


Falling to Life

by otherhawk



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's Eleven (2001)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Families of Choice, Pre-Movie(s), Recovery, Sexual Abuse, learning to live
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherhawk/pseuds/otherhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of More Things Change. Rusty is taken into care - away from Danny - when he's nine years old and thrown straight into hell. Danny can't get him back alone, but maybe that's where Saul should come in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yes, this is another multipart story. In my defense, this one already has another 230 odd pages written. So I should be able to keep up a decent posting rate at least for a while. In my undefense, it's still not finished...
> 
> A/N2: This is a happier AU of A World Where Werewolves Won, which in turn was an AU from the Matilda and the Werewolf chapter of mtc. I tried long and hard to think of a title that included werewolves and didn't sound completely cheesy but couldn't think of one. If something occurs to me - or InSilva (smiles) - I may conceivably change it. Anyway, if you have read those two stories you will know that this will contain child abuse, including sexual abuse, and pretty much everything awful that can happen to a child. In spite of that, I'd like to point out that this is actually a happier AU. Honestly.
> 
> A/N3: I hesitated for a long time before posting this fic as I felt that there were similarities to InSilva's brilliant Body and Soul verse, and I want to acknowledge that. And then, just after I finally decide that I am going to post it, Peabodythecat writes Not A Fitting Punishment and I see more similarites. Serves me rightt. :) Anyway, the point is, you should read both of those fics. Now.

Sometimes the long con really did seem to go on too _long._ This was the second week Saul had spent in this unremarkable town, playing the part of the benevolent business man for a mayor who was about as stupid as he was corrupt, and honestly he was sick to death of the whole thing.

There was a limit to how many stories about the golf team at Princeton a man could be reasonably expected to fabricate. Worse still, Anderson – the mayor – hadn't picked up any of his standard ploys, and he'd had to get less and less subtle. By now he was practically at the point of hitting him over the head with the notion of _you-could-make-money._

It wasn't at all to his liking. And to think he normally regarded _intelligence_ as a problematic trait in a mark. Right now, he was seriously considering the idea that this fool was too dumb to get conned.

Made him wonder about the rest of the town who had been willing to vote him into office. Twice, no less. Seemed like the sort of place no one remarkable would ever come from.

It wasn't even as though Anderson wasn't _interested_ in his supposed money. He'd seen the greedy, covetous look at the dinner party he'd hosted in the admittedly-upmarket apartment he'd rented. Just that all his dark hints about the lucrative but shady deal he was putting together went straight over the man's head. It was depressing. One more day, he promised himself. One more day and if he couldn't hook Anderson, he'd shake the dust of this town forever.

Anderson had invited him on a tour of the government buildings, which was every bit as dull as it sounded, and he had smiled and suffered through the parks division, and the garbage collection department, and then they'd wound up passing through the ground floor of social services.

There was a boy standing at the reception desk. And, foolishly perhaps, Saul found himself watching him as Anderson talked about the department's fantastic track record with placing troubled youngsters.

" _Please,_ " the boy said with soft desperation. "Please just tell me where he is."

The woman at the counter didn't even look up from her book. "We can't disclose that information to a non relative."

The boy half turned away and Saul could see his face for the first time. He only looked to be about twelve. And no twelve year old should look that exhausted. That _resigned._ "That's what you always say," he said. "I'm not asking...it's been five months. I haven't heard anything. He never came back to school...he doesn't answer my letters. _Please._ I'm begging you. I just need to see him. I need to know he's alright."

Somehow, the woman was bored and unmoved. "I can't give out any information - "

The boy slammed his hand down on the counter. " - Haven't you ever had a friend?" he demanded shrilly, his voice breaking. "Haven't you ever cared about someone?"

The woman looked up for the first time. "Carry on like that, young man, and I'll call security," she threatened sharply, and Saul bristled slightly. He didn't know the story here, but that seemed needlessly heavy handed. And he didn't doubt she meant it.

Apparently the boy thought so too. His shoulders sagged. "Yeah," he said dully. "Sorry. Can you...can you see that this is passed onto him?" He drew an envelope out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter.

With a put upon sigh, the woman took it. "I'll pass it onto the relevant caseworker," she said dismissively.

"Sure," the boy said wearily. "Sure." He turned and made to walk away. "Same time tomorrow, I guess," he said quietly.

He trudged past Saul and Anderson, seemingly without even seeing them, and he sat down on the bench in the lobby out of sight of the woman behind the desk, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking, as though he didn't expect anyone to notice, as if no one _ever_ noticed.

He was moving before he'd even thought about it, ignoring Anderson's startled cry of "Aaron!" and a second later he was crouched in front of the boy, proffering a handkerchief.

"Hello there," he said gently.

The boy looked up sharply. "I'm not crying," he said automatically, his chin raised defiantly.

He nodded understandingly and glanced back towards the reception desk meaningfully. "Seems to me that you might have a good reason to be upset," he said mildly, still holding out the handkerchief.

Watching him warily, the boy took it and dabbed at his eyes. "Yeah," he said shortly.

"My name's Saul," he said encouragingly then, thinking of Anderson behind him quickly added "Well, my _name_ is Aaron Saul Ezequiel Tobias Bergman. But you can call me Saul."

That drew the faintest of smiles from the boy. "Danny," he said simply. "Danny Ocean. I don't have any middle names."

"Well, Danny Ocean," he said gently, standing up and sitting on the bench beside him. "Why don't you tell me about it?"

Danny twisted around to gaze at him suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.

Saul met his gaze evenly. "Because I want to help," he answered simply.

For a long moment Danny stared at him incredulously, brow furrowed, searching Saul's face for truth. Saul let him see it, and the way Danny's eyes widened might just be comical in other circumstances. "No one's ever wanted to help before," he said in a whisper, and Saul's heart twisted at the awe in his voice.

"Well, I do," he said firmly. "Now, why don't you tell me about it?"

"It's my friend," Danny said hesitantly. "Rusty. Robert Ryan." He paused and Saul nodded encouragingly, and emboldened, Danny talked, words falling over each other, like no one had ever taken the time to listen before. "He got taken away a few months ago by social services, and that should be _good,_ only I haven't heard from him since, and he wouldn't just leave me, not if he could help it. And they won't tell me _where_ so I can't visit him, and it's..." He shook his head and looked up at Saul beseechingly. "Something isn't right. _Please._ If there's anything you can do. Please."

Saul found himself helpless to resist the raw, pleading look in Danny's eyes. Here was a child who had been disappointed too often.

He reached out and patted Danny on the shoulder. "Let's see what we can do," he promised. "Larry?" He looked at Anderson with a calculated air of expectation.

"What?" Anderson blinked. "That's not my department."

"You know," Saul mused aloud to no one in particular. "I always find the town government runs so much more smoothly when the mayor takes a personal interest in the practical day to day matters, and when he leads with compassion. It makes a far more tempting investment for...private investment."

There was a pause. "Private investment?" Anderson repeated slowly.

Saul smiled. " _Substantial_ private investment," he suggested.

Anderson just about managed to resist rubbing his hands together. "Oh, well, I suppose it is a reasonable request. No harm in letting children see each other, after all...let me just go see what can be done."

With a sigh of satisfaction Saul watched him hurry off. "Sometimes you need to be a little devious to get what you want," he explained.

Danny was gazing at him in wonder.

* * *

The mayor was gone for maybe three quarters of an hour. Danny stared after him hungrily, hardly daring to believe that this might be _it._ This all felt like an impossible dream. He'd almost given up hope.

It had been five months since Mom had taken Rusty away, and he'd been coming to the social services office most days since, demanding news of Rusty, needing to see him.

Rusty had been so hurt. So scared. So _broken._ Sometimes, Danny wondered if maybe Rusty had died, and they were hiding it from him.

This had just been another day of agonising disappointment, and then Saul had sat down next to him and calmly offered to give him everything he wanted. He'd been sure it had to be a trick, that Saul was just going to listen to him and then scoff and tell him that he needed to grow up and stop whining, like Mom always did. Only Saul _hadn't._ Saul had simply smiled and offered the impossible.

This could really be it. He could hardly sit still. Could hardly resist the urge to run after the mayor and demand the answers right _now._

"Patience," Saul murmured sympathetically. Then: "So tell me about Rusty," he asked, looking at him with what felt like genuine interest.

Danny smiled and eagerly rushed into story after story, things they'd done, scrapes they'd got into, adventures and misadventures alike, and Saul listened and nodded like he understood, and it felt like he was actually enjoying the stories. Felt like he actually cared what Danny said, and that was strange and unusual. Still, Danny was careful to steer clear of the illegal and any mention of Rusty's father. Some things no one needed to know, no matter how nice they might _seem._

But the stories made time fly by, and then the mayor was back, standing over them, smiling benevolently. At Saul. Not at him. "Good news. Robert Ryan was apparently admitted to the Franklin Institute. It's our local home for children with mental difficulties."

"Rusty doesn't - " Danny began angrily, before he forced himself to swallow down the fury. He was dependent on the mayor's goodwill. He had to be meek and agreeable. To his surprise, Saul's hand gripped his shoulder in brief reassurance.

"The Franklin Institute?" Saul asked calmly.

"Yes," the mayor nodded, seemingly having not even noticed Danny speaking. "A very good place, by my understanding. Run by a Dr Mayhew. A very kindhearted man, who's devoted his life to helping troubled youngsters."

A good place. That was a reassuring thought. Maybe Rusty was just fine. Maybe he was happy, but just hadn't had a chance to get in touch. After all, if Rusty hadn't started talking again...God, he couldn't bear to think of it. But maybe Rusty just couldn't talk to him. Maybe there was an innocent explanation for everything.

"I've organised an inspection tour for the two of us," the mayor went on expansively. "And the kid can come along too."

Maybe he'd walk in there and see Rusty smiling at him and everything would be okay again.

* * *

Certainly from the outside, the Franklin Institute didn't exactly look like a good place. It looked grey and gloomy and threatening, and as Saul held the door of the car open for Danny, he saw the bleak apprehension in the boy's eyes.

"We're going to find your friend," he promised softly. "Come on, now."

Danny swallowed and nodded shakily.

"Let's go," Anderson said cheerily, apparently immune to the atmosphere.

They followed him and the social worker up the stairs and into the building. There was no one at the reception desk. In fact, the whole lobby looked deserted. Like this place didn't get many visitors.

"When's the last time this place was inspected?" he asked Anderson with a casualness he didn't feel.

Anderson blinked at him, obviously floundering, and he looked to the social worker. Mrs Warren, Saul thought she'd been introduced as. And she just shuffled her feet and looked aside shiftily. "Dr Mayhew prefers not to be disturbed," she said at last. "He says it's detrimental to the children's wellbeing."

Right. There was an unpleasant feeling in the pit of Saul's stomach. He didn't know exactly _what,_ but something just didn't feel right here.

"Well, let's ring the bell," Anderson said jovially, walking up to the desk. "Get the guided tour, what?"

Saul nodded towards the door leading further into the building. "Oh, I think we should show ourselves around, don't you?" he said, like it was obvious. "It will give us a better picture."

"Of course, of course," Anderson said, clearly still trying his best to please him.

"Well, that's highly irregular," Mrs Warren said uncomfortably.

"Nonsense," he said cheerfully. "It's not like Dr Mayhew has anything to hide."

"Exactly," Anderson nodded, like it was his idea. "Let's try and find the good doctor."

They walked towards the door. Saul moved closer to Danny. "Stick by me," he said in a low voice. "Don't wander off, no matter what." He didn't know what was going on here, and in all probability he was just being paranoid, but he wasn't about to put the kid in danger.

The corridor was unnervingly deserted. They passed doors marked 'Dining Room', 'Kitchen', 'Activity Room 1' but they were all empty when Saul pushed the doors open. The furniture he saw was sparse, utilitarian and bolted to the floor. This place seemed more like a prison than anything else. He looked down at Danny. The boy was pale, biting his lip hard. Probably this wasn't where he wanted his friend to be living. Saul didn't blame him. The whole place had an unnerving Marie Celeste feel to it.

"I admit the décor is a little gloomy," Mrs Warren said stiffly from behind him. "But you can't argue with results. Dr Mayhew's intense disciplinary treatment has been highly successful."

He nodded, wondering just how they were measuring that. "Tell me about the institute," he invited, partly to break the oppressive silence, partly to maintain the illusion that this was some kind of inspection.

"Well, the unit is designed for up to twenty children," she began. "I believe there's fourteen in residence at the moment. Eleven boys and three girls. The activity rooms, dining hall and school room are on this floor. The dormitories are upstairs – I imagine that's where most of the children will be. There's a locked ward area in the basement, along with a time out room, and the offices are just along here." She pointed down a side passage and set off confidently.

"Good," Anderson said brightly. "Let's find Dr Mayhew and get him to bring us the boy we're looking for."

The office was small and cramped, every wall lined with bookcases. Behind the desk, several diplomas were prominently displayed. There was no one here though.

"He must be somewhere else," Mrs Warren announced unnecessarily.

Saul nodded and casually moved behind the desk, taking in the paperwork on top – nothing exciting, looked like basic order forms – and the framed photograph of a smiling middle aged man, standing next to a much younger woman and two young girls standing in front of them. The good doctor and his family, Saul guessed. At least he'd recognise the man when they found him. There was nothing sinister here at all. Probably he was being over sensitive. Still, when he caught sight of Danny surreptitiously opening the box on the wall labelled 'Master Keys', and quietly sticking them in his pocket, he wasn't exactly going to object. In fact, when Danny noticed him noticing, he assuaged the fear with an approving nod, and watched, amused, as Danny struggled to hide his astonishment.

"Well, let's go and find him then," Saul said brightly, and he figured only Danny had a hope of realising he wasn't talking about Dr Mayhew. "I suggest we start downstairs and work our way up." They'd passed a set of stairs on the way to the office.

"Really, I'm not sure if this is appropriate," Mrs Warren began, but Saul was already striding out of the office confidently, Danny following a step behind him.

There were a lot of locked doors downstairs. Saul quietly took the keys from Danny and moved before any one could challenge him. There were a couple of rooms which looked more like cells than anything else, something that looked like an interview room with a chair covered in straps, a room all painted white with white tile on the floor, which said 'Quiet Room' on the door.

Saul's hand didn't leave Danny's shoulder. He should take the child back upstairs. Have him wait in the car.

"That's strange," Mrs Warren said, puzzled. "It's been a couple of years but I don't remember that door being there." She pointed to the door at the end of the corridor. Saul immediately moved to investigate, and his eye was caught by the marks on the floor.

"That's because this filing cabinet is usually in front of it," he explained quietly, an inexplicable feeling of dread creeping through him.

"Why on earth would they do that?" Anderson said blankly.

Saul didn't answer. He searched through the keys until he found one that opened the door.

There was dried blood on the floor of the corridor beyond the door. Not a lot, but too much already. It looks as though someone had been dragged. A thick, unpleasant smell hung in the air.

He swallowed hard. "Danny, I think perhaps you'd better - "

He was interrupted. " - Good God, is that a boy?" Anderson asked in a horrified whisper. He'd pushed past Saul and was looking through the observation hatch in the next door.

Saul moved up quickly to take a look. The room was devoid of furniture. There was a boy curled up in the corner of a cell, his clothes torn and ragged, rocking backwards and forwards fearfully. There was blood all around but it was impossible to see where it was coming from. He looked to be about sixteen.

Danny had said Rusty was younger than him...

"It's not him," he assured Danny quickly, stepping in to make sure Danny couldn't see, because it might not be Danny's friend, but it was another child hurt and distressed.

"What's going on here?" Anderson demanded, sounding genuine for the first time since Saul had known him. "What's that boy doing in there?"

"We need to find Dr Mayhew," Mrs Warren insisted in a hushed voice.

"We need to - "

Danny turned round quickly, like he'd heard something, and a second later he was running down the corridor. Saul swore and took off after him.

He only caught up after Danny had reached the last door in the corridor and thrown it open.

His hand was on Danny's shoulder, and they both saw at the same moment.

It took him a second to realise that Danny had screamed.

The scene was so much worse than he could ever have imagined. The child was lying face down on a hospital bed, naked and filthy, while the man lay on top of him, one hand clamped on the child's hip, the other twisted in the matted hair, forcing the child's head down. He could see blood and bruises, and the child was squirming weakly, struggling silently beneath the man's overpowering weight, face shadowed and invisible.

The man had looked up the moment the door opened, and Saul recognised Dr Mayhew in a second. He was wearing a white labcoat, his pants pooled around his ankles. He stared at Saul, seemingly frozen in shock.

He didn't move away from the child.

He was still _inside_ the child.

With a roar of primal, horrified fury, Saul threw himself forwards, shoving Mayhew away from the child and pinning him against the wall.

"What the...who the hell are you?" Mayhew spluttered, his eyes full of fear.

"Doesn't matter," Saul snarled. "You fucking monster." He drew back his hand and punched him. And punched him. And punched and punched and punched, and he watched as Mayhew's face crumpled into a bloody mess, not stopping until he was the only thing holding Mayhew up. Then he simply let go and Mayhew fell to the ground in an untidy heap.

"Is...is he dead?" Danny breathed hesitantly from somewhere behind him.

"No," Saul said heavily, not looking round.

" _Pity,_ " Danny said fiercely, his voice heavy with hatred.

Saul closed his eyes. What Danny had seen...God, no child should see that. Saul had known plenty of evil men in his life, and Mayhew made him feel sick inside.

He stood for a second, breathing heavily, staring down at the... _thing..._ on the ground, longing to just carry on hitting and hurting, but conscious of Anderson standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"I've sent Mrs Warren to call the police," Anderson reported in a subdued voice. "This is just terrible. I can't believe this was going on in my city. And a man like Dr Mayhew too!"

"Why don't you go find something to tie the bastard up with," Saul said, calmer now, and he turned to look back into the room.

Danny was crouched beside the bed, peering under it. "Rus'," he said softly. Saul winced. So the child was Danny's friend. He'd been _hoping_...Hoping that they'd find Rusty somewhere else, safe and sound, even in this hellhole. "Rusty, you're...you're alright now." He sounded choked and uncertain. "Will you come out of there?"

There was no answer, as far as Saul heard, but Danny nodded.

"Okay...just a second," he said, and he carefully crawled under the bed himself.

For a long while there was no sound but Danny's voice, soft and reassuring.

Saul couldn't hear what Danny was saying, just the tone of voice. He tried not to listen. He could only hope that Danny was able to coax the child out from under the bed, because as awful as it was to rely on another kid like this, Danny was the only one the child would recognise, and Saul doubted that a bunch of strange adults blundering around would do anything to calm him right now. Like he didn't have enough to be traumatised about. No, for the moment it seemed best to give them a little space, and make sure they were safe. Once Mayhew was nowhere close, he'd start working on how to get the child taken care of.

Somehow, he didn't think about just standing back and leaving it to the police and social services to handle.

"I'm just out here," he called, his voice low and unthreatening. "Keeping an eye on Mayhew. He's unconscious, and I'm not going to let him near you again, Rusty."

"Thanks," Danny said softly. Saul wasn't sure if he was speaking for both of them.

"I couldn't find any rope or anything," Anderson announced as he walked back into the room. "But I was thinking about the chair back in the interview room? Just until the police get here."

"Sounds like a good idea," he nodded, actually impressed that Anderson had thought of it. He raised his voice. "Rusty? Danny? You hear that? We're going to take Mayhew out of here. Get him properly tied up so that the police can come and take him away."

"Okay," Danny answered after a moment.

"I'll be back soon," Saul promised. "Please don't go anywhere just yet."

Together with Anderson, he picked up Mayhew none too gently and dragged him out of the room and back down the corridor.

"I tried talking to the boy in there," Anderson said as they passed the cell door. "Through the door. "I...don't know if he understood. He just snarled at me. Like an animal. Mrs Warren says we'll need to wait for reinforcements." He shook his head. "With that sick monster in charge, who knows how messed up these kids could be? They were all damaged to begin with, remember."

Saul winced. He didn't want to think of it like that. "She managed to call the police?" he asked instead neutrally.

"Yes," Anderson nodded. "And apparently she bumped into a couple of nurses or orderlies or something. Staff, anyway. They swore blind they didn't know anything about...anything."

Yeah. Saul snorted. He found that hard to believe.

"We'll have to wait and see, I guess," Anderson said doubtfully. "God, I can't believe this has _happened._ Here, in our quiet town."

He kicked the door open and together they deposited Mayhew on the chair and buckled up all the straps and restraints they could find.

"Think he used the chair to - "Anderson began.

" - I don't know," Saul snapped, nauseated, but when he turned round it wasn't prurient curiosity on Anderson's face. His eyes were haunted.

"You should have hit him harder," he said.

Mayhew moaned, as if regaining consciousness, and a second later Anderson punched him in the jaw.

"I've got a son myself, you know," he said, shaking his hand out painfully. "I don't know what I'm going to tell everyone. How do I tell my constituents that I let this go on under my nose?"

Might not be the issue uppermost in his mind, but nonetheless Saul was feeling just a touch of sympathy towards Anderson. It wasn't just his political position he was focused on, after all. "Tell them that you personally were responsible for discovering and stopping it," he suggested. "It's the truth, after all."

"Yeah," Anderson said wearily. "But if it hadn't been for that kid looking for his friend..." He swallowed hard. "The boy that degenerate was..." He left the sentence hanging delicately. "That was the friend?"

"It seems so," Saul agreed woodenly.

"God." Anderson exhaled. "I hope he's okay."

Remembering the scene he'd walked in on, Saul found it difficult to imagine how he could be. "I'd better get back to them," he said.

"Sure," Anderson nodded. "I'll stay here and wait for the police." He shot Saul a careful look. "Good luck."

Saul nodded. He was going to need it, if he was going to get the children taken care of.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you like this chapter

* * *

 

There was a dull screaming sound echoing around inside Danny's skull. It had started right about the moment he'd opened the door, and it didn't show any sign of stopping any time soon. He couldn't focus. He couldn't think. It felt like everything clean and safe in the world had crumbled away, leaving him nothing but a bitter shell and a desperate need to protect Rusty. Only he didn't even know _how._

It was cramped under the bed. He was lying on the floor, stretched out so he could see where Rusty was huddled against the wall, curled up and hiding as much of himself as possible. Rusty had warned him off getting any closer with a look, and that was as close as Rusty had come to actually meeting his eyes.

This was so much worse than anything Danny had imagined. Rusty was silent and trembling and bleeding, and Danny longed to reach out and hold him and somehow promise that it was all going to be okay.

But it wasn't all okay. And Danny couldn't see how it could ever be okay again.

This wasn't what he had been imagining. He hadn't been able to see Rusty, and he'd been afraid, but he'd tried to be rational, and rationally he'd thought that Rusty had to be somewhere safe. Trapped and alone, maybe, but _safe._ He'd thought that was how it was supposed to work. Rusty wasn't supposed to be sent somewhere _worse._ And right from the moment when the mayor had told him where Rusty was, he'd been apprehensive, because Rusty didn't have 'mental difficulties', and he'd figured that maybe Rusty hadn't started talking again, but nothing had prepared him for what he'd seen.

What he'd seen. He wasn't naïve. He _knew_ what he'd seen. He just hadn't imagined...why would anyone _want_ to? Why would anyone hurt Rusty like that? He was almost disappointed that Saul had taken Mayhew out the room. He thought that maybe he could've found something sharp. Could've done what he should've done to Rusty's father a long time ago.

He was still talking. Meaningless, reassuring nonsense, and it meant nothing more then _I found you._

Rusty raised his head minutely and glanced out from under the bed, looking in the direction of the door.

"That's Saul," Danny said immediately. "He's a good guy. He saw me asking about you to the woman at social services. I've been looking for you," he added quickly. "I'd never stop looking for you but I don't know I'd have had a hope of finding you if it wasn't for Saul." He swallowed hard, trying not to think about what could've been. "He got the mayor involved. Got them to bring us here, and then once we were in, he just started searching for you." Thank God. Cos maybe, if they'd done what Mrs Warren suggested and waited in the reception, Dr Mayhew might have just come and talked to them and hidden Rusty away, and they'd _never_ have found out what he did. He struggled to choke back the sob. He might never have known, and Rusty would have stayed down here, being hurt, being...being... "I owe him so much," he whispered.

Rusty flinched, and Danny was aware of the swirling storm of emotion.

"What?" he asked gently.

Rusty still didn't look at him, his head ducked painfully away.

Danny tried to concentrate. After all, he'd always been able to read Rusty. _That_ wasn't allowed to have changed.

There was fear, most of all. Terror. Pain and shame and heartache, and all of those were familiar, but not like this. And there was concern. For him? About Saul...

Rusty thought Saul would hurt him, or Rusty thought Saul would... "Hey. I don't think he's like that," he promised.

The disbelief was immediate and absolute, and Danny felt himself doubting in the face of it. "He helped us," he protested. "And he beat the crap out of that...that..." There weren't any words strong enough. Not that Danny knew. Maybe not in the world. The memory of the man on top of Rusty, _raping_ him, burned through his mind again, and he screwed his eyes up tight, his fingernails buried deep in his palms, trying to keep the screaming inside. "I don't think Saul's like that," he said again, firmly.

Still Rusty implored him.

He sighed. "I'll be careful," he promised. "I won't drop my guard. But Rus', we got more important things to think of right now. You're hurt. We're going to need to go to the hospital. I guess Saul and the others will come back, and the police, and we need to be ready."

The horror and pain and fear made his heart ache. The surprise was somehow worse.

"Of course we're not going to leave you," he said at once. "Rus'. This isn't...you saw the way Saul reacted. This isn't the way things are supposed to be."

Rusty was filled with doubt and shame and self blame.

Danny didn't know what to say to make it better.

* * *

Nothing had changed when Saul walked back into the room. He could still see the edge of Danny's sneaker poking out from under the bed, could still hear Danny talking, apparently urging Rusty to come out from under the bed. He still couldn't hear Rusty answer though. He hadn't heard Rusty's voice once.

He cleared his throat loudly. "I'm back," he announced, not wanting them to be surprised.

There was a moment of silence.

He had to work on being as unthreatening as possible. The cops would be here soon and he couldn't help but think that everything would be better for Rusty if he met them on his own two feet. Especially if the alternative was being dragged out. He couldn't trust anyone else to be gentle.

_He'd_ found the child. Somehow that meant the child was his responsibility, and he wasn't going to walk away until he was sure the child was safe and looked after.

"Mayhew is restrained," he went on. "He's not going to come near you again. You're safe, Rusty. You have my word. Won't you come out of here?"

Nothing. He took a deep breath. The room smelled foul. The air was heavy with sex and sweat and blood and filth. This wasn't a one off.

Perhaps the only thing to do was be honest. "Very soon now," he said softly. "There's going to be police and social workers down here. They're going to take you to hospital and they 're going to need to examine you, and talk to you about what happened. There's going to be a lot of people." He thought maybe he heard the faintest gasp. Not from Danny. "They're going to be _helping_ you," he emphasised. "But it might be a little overwhelming." He swallowed hard. "If you'll let me, I'll try and protect you. I'll try and make it as easy as possible. Try and make sure Danny can stay, at least for a while. It wasn't much. Hell, it wasn't _anything_ but he wasn't going to promise anything he couldn't deliver. "Let me at least try."

There was more silence. But somehow, he got the impression he was being listened to.

He glanced around the room, more out of optimism than anything else. "Do you have any clothes anyplace around here?" Not in this room, obviously. But maybe back in one of those cells.

"No," Danny's voice said, a few minutes later, miserable and subdued. "There's nothing."

The implications didn't escape him. He tried not to think about it, quickly pulling off his coat. "Here," he said, pushing it under the bed. "Why don't you put this on?"

He waited for a breathless second, and the coat disappeared under the bed. "That's good," he said softly.

A moment later, Danny stood up, and when he looked at Saul his eyes were anxious and grateful, all at once.

Saul could only hope he wouldn't disappoint.

It seemed forever until Rusty shuffled out from under the bed and stood up, apart from Saul and Danny, not looking at them.

It was the first time that Saul had actually had a chance to see the child properly. He was thin, that was the first thing he noticed. Far thinner than any child should ever be, his skin stretched tight over his bones. It seemed as though there was blood and bruises on every visible bit of flesh, and Saul's coat was wrapped tightly around him, like armour. He was filthy too – Saul wasn't even sure what colour his hair was – and there was...liquid...crusted over his face and especially around his mouth.

Saul looked at him, heart aching for the bravery it was taking for the child to just stand there. He wanted to make sure that nothing hurt him. Not ever again.

"Thank you, Rusty," he said quietly.

There was a noise on the stairs. The sound of people running. People shouting. People coming towards them.

He took a deep breath and looked at each of the boys in turn; Danny, standing in front of Rusty, protective and terrified and defiant; Rusty, poised, not to run, but to shove Danny aside, to protect _him,_ blank and damaged and so very, very afraid.

"It's going to be alright," he promised. "Somehow, I swear, I'm going to make it alright."

He turned to face the door as they came in, Mrs Warren flanked by two cops. "I'm glad you're here," he said, inclining his head sharply. "Let's get this sorted as quickly as possible, shall we?"

He was going to keep his promise. No matter what that meant.

* * *

Rusty had done something wrong and he wasn't even sure exactly what it was. He'd been trying to be good this time, he really had. Good and grateful and obedient, only somehow Dr Mayhew had known that he _wasn't_ and he still just wanted out. Dr Mayhew's voice had been sad when he'd told Rusty that his punishment would need to last a while longer.

He didn't think he'd been bad enough that they'd take him away. Let alone send Danny... He'd struggled while Dr Mayhew was using him. But he always did, and normally that just earned him a beating or time in the chair. This...this was worse than that. Maybe even worse than the quiet room. There were so many people and most of them he didn't recognise. None of the staff from the institute were here, but there were cops and social workers, and Mrs Warren was among them, and she'd been the one who took him here in the first place. How was she going to react to finding out how bad he'd been? How ungrateful? She'd told him to make sure and do everything Dr Mayhew said. Worse, they were all looking at him, staring at him while they talked among themselves, trying to decide what to do, like he was a cockroach they'd found on the bottom of their shoe, and he _hurt,_ and he was humiliated and naked.

Not quite naked. He pulled the coat that Saul had given him a little tighter around himself and immediately felt guilty. He was getting Saul's coat all dirty. He wasn't supposed to get his filth on normal people. A few sessions spent polishing Dr Mayhew's shoes had convinced him of that. The tastememory of dirt and leather rose in his mind and he seized on it eagerly, trying to fill his head with it. So much better than the alternatives.

He should give the coat back though. He knew it. But it was warm and it covered him, and he just couldn't bring himself to. Besides, Saul had offered it to him. Better to be bad now and hang onto it. Consequences ...gratitude... could come later.

Saul had said that he was going to be taken to hospital and examined. The thought had him shaking inside. The last time that had happened, Mrs Warren and the doctors had decided that he wasn't good enough to live among normal people anymore, and they'd sent him off to Dr Mayhew for correction, and now even that hadn't been enough.

And Dr Mayhew hadn't even wanted to see him. Saul had told the cops to make sure Dr Mayhew was out of the way before he'd let them take Rusty anywhere.

Saul was talking calmly and patiently, but Rusty could sense the exasperation and it made him nervous. He longed to hide again. But he was trying to be strong, and he stood beside Danny and waited.

Danny had said what Dr Mayhew was doing was wrong. He seemed to think that the cops were going to take Dr Mayhew away and _he'd_ get in trouble. Rusty doubted it. Danny didn't always see the way the world worked. All that was going to happen was that Dr Mayhew would sit down with the other adults and explain how Rusty was a burden and a parasite and all the rest of it, that he was sick, and they needed to waste time and money looking after him, feeding him, giving him medicine, all the while knowing that he'd never be worth it, and Rusty still remained defiant and ungrateful on top of that. He'd explain all that, and they'd all agree that Rusty deserved to be punished, that he wasn't a normal child, and that his...his _caregivers..._ were allowed to use him in any way they liked. Probably Saul would even apologise for punching Dr Mayhew.

He'd liked that. He'd enjoyed seeing Dr Mayhew hurt. And if he needed any more proof that the problem lay with him, there it was. He was simply a bad kid.

He'd liked it, but at the same time, it had been frightening. He'd seen the fury and the disgust and he'd assumed that Saul would come after him next and he'd hid like a little coward, and he didn't know whether he'd been more scared that Saul would find him or Dr Mayhew. Would've been best if no one had found him. If he could just disappear...

Only Danny had been there.

Probably once Dr Mayhew had finished explaining, and they'd examined Rusty and realise they couldn't talk to him _anyway,_ he'd be sent straight back here. Only it would be worse, cos he'd have caused all this fuss. They'd never let him back upstairs with the others. He'd be locked down here in the basement for the rest of his life.

He shivered at the thought, and Danny stepped forwards quietly. "What is it?" he asked softly.

Rusty shook his head quickly. No way he could share the thought. Especially not with the cops and the social workers and Saul just over there, talking. If they knew how much he dreaded this place and being punished, they wouldn't even _need_ Dr Mayhew to convince them he was ungrateful.

And that wasn't even the worst case scenario. Maybe they'd examine him and find that he really didn't deserve to be here, and they'd send him somewhere worse. He wasn't sure he could even imagine what that would be like, but he thought maybe he'd rather die. Or maybe they'd just wash their hands of him altogether, and throw him out on the street.

Would that really be so bad?

He'd be able to earn money pickpocketing and he'd be able to at least _try_ to run when someone tried to use him or hurt him.

Of course the best case scenario would be if they just gave him back to Dad. If Dad would even take him back... But then everything could just go back to normal, and he'd be fine and he could do as he pleased and be free to see Danny.

Saul finished talking to the other adults and turned round to him. "Alright, Rusty. Danny. There's a car waiting upstairs to take us to the hospital. Are you ready?"

He kept his eyes fixed on the floor respectfully, and nodded his head in quick acknowledgement. Best to just go along with it.

The cops walked out first, and he followed them meekly, Danny just beside him, Saul a half step behind, hovering anxiously. Probably afraid Rusty would run off and make him look bad, after all his efforts. Well, running didn't exactly seem possible right now. Not that it had ever exactly had a chance to go away since the first time, but right now he could hardly walk. The pain was deep and fresh and he was limping badly, hobbling along, his steps heavy. Walking like a fucking sissy, Dad would say, and the tone of disgust was so real in his head that he had to look around quickly to be sure Dad wasn't somehow here.

Unsurprisingly, he stumbled on the stairs and fell to his knees, biting his tongue hard. Danny was there in a second, his arm around Rusty's waist, helping him up. Rusty flinched back instantly, lightly pushing Danny away. Danny shouldn't touch him. Danny might get contaminated, somehow, and Rusty would never forgive himself for that. Danny shouldn't _have_ to touch him.

"Are you alright?" Saul asked from behind him. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell?"

Saul sounded concerned. Probably disturbed by the fact he couldn't even manage to walk. He shook his head quickly, glad that at least Saul didn't seem intent on vocal answers. He _couldn't._ He really, truly couldn't.

"Come on then, kiddo," Saul said gruffly. "We've just got to get through this and then we'll get you settled somewhere with a good meal, a hot bath and a warm bed.

Unconsciously, he tilted his head to one side, listening. He didn't really believe Saul's words but...he liked the tone. Made him feel...something. Warm, maybe. Like it might almost be worth having to be grateful for what Saul was offering.

He looked down quickly and determinedly started walking up the stairs again.

The other kids were lined up in the lobby, like they were waiting to be taken somewhere. Maybe they were all going to the hospital too? He recognised most of them. There were a couple of unfamiliar faces, but he couldn't be certain whether they were new or if he'd just missed them before.

He could feel them looking at him, and as he limped towards the front door, he heard someone wolf whistle. He looked round quickly and Kenny Brewer was leaning against the wall, laughing and making a jerk-off gesture. He flushed, quickly looking away, remembering the furtive hand job he'd given Kenny in the boys' restroom, in exchange for not telling anyone that he'd seen Rusty stealing food.

He didn't even notice until it was too late when Danny stepped past him, angrily moving to confront Kenny, and that was a really stupid idea, because Danny was eleven and Kenny was almost eighteen. But before Danny moved more than two steps, Saul was there, his hand on Danny's shoulder, holding Danny back. "Not a good idea," he said in a low voice, so that only they could hear, and Rusty found himself agreeing and he hoped that Danny could understand his plea because he didn't want Danny hurt, not for anything.

"Yeah," Danny said softly, looking straight at him. "Sorry, Rus'." There was aching regret in his voice, but Rusty wasn't sure what he was apologising for, and still the other kids were jeering.

He tried to smile at Danny, but he couldn't, so he just walked out the door instead.

It was dark and the cold hit him immediately. It had to be winter. The last time he'd been outdoors it had been summer. How long had he been here? He couldn't even begin to guess.

"I should have found you a pair of shoes," Saul commented unhappily.

Rusty shrugged. It wasn't important. He picked his way down the concrete steps and onto the gravel before Saul had a chance to say anything. It hurt, but compared to...it really wasn't that important.

"Come on then," Saul said resignedly, walking past him and holding the car door open for him.

They passed a school bus driving in as they drove out. Must be taking the other kids where ever they were going, he figured. He had to admit, he was glad he wasn't on it. He wasn't the only one who got it, but he was the youngest by three years or more. He wasn't a potential friend or ally, he was just a target.

Still, it had been so much better when he'd been upstairs.

He'd been kept downstairs for a long time when he'd first arrived. Dr Mayhew said he needed time to acclimatise to his new surroundings, and that meant they had to keep him locked up in the tiny cell until he understood the rules. Simple enough. Being grateful for what he was given. How everything they did was for his own good. How he should be thankful when Dr Mayhew – or anyone – used him, because at least he was contributing _something._

He learned things he didn't want to. Ways to move. What he should be doing with his mouth. How best to please.

When he was alone, and he was sure no one could hear him, he lay staring at the door, his arms wrapped around his body in a desperate self-hug, and willed himself to cry. The tears never came. Not even when he thought of Danny and remembered everything he'd lost.

He'd assumed that was it. That his world was now a small cell and a larger room with a bed. Then one day, one of the orderlies – Victor, he'd learned later, but no one ever bothered with introductions – had walked into his cell. He'd been brusque and rough, and he'd had Rusty use his mouth to clean him up, and then afterwards as he was tucking himself away, he'd told Rusty to follow him, and he'd been taken first to the shower block where he'd been doused with cold water and harsh soap from a powerful hose, and then he'd been given a pair of track shorts and a grey t-shirt that was too big for him, and left in the middle of the dormitory, and that had been that. He was upstairs.

It was better upstairs. There was noise and day and night, and food twice a day, and showers and toilets and clothes. But he was still expected to be grateful and good. He had to pay Dr Mayhew and the others back for everything he was given. He'd be pulled out of bed in the middle of the night, or called out to Dr Mayhew's office, or taken for a therapy session. It didn't get easier. It didn't stop. And when he stepped out of line, or when he looked like he might be considering defiance, punishment was swift and harsh and physical.

Rusty had long ago resigned himself to the knowledge that he was bad. Being bad meant surviving, and he was only in trouble if he got caught. Being good meant letting himself get hurt or killed or worse. So he was bad, and as soon as he saw an opportunity he'd tried to escape. There had been some disturbance in the dining room. An argument between a few of the older boys, and as they'd been dragged apart, Rusty had taken off, running for the front door. He'd made it too; got the door open and as the light came flooding in, he recoiled, painfully blinded.

That had been an end to it. He'd disappointed everyone, and when they'd finally let him out of the quiet room, he'd been dragged to his cell and dumped in a heap in the middle of the floor.

He was bad and he was ungrateful. And still they didn't just leave him alone to rot.

Familiar buildings sped by. This was the way they'd driven in when they'd been taking him from the hospital. So that _was_ where they were going. He didn't want to. He didn't want their disapproval, their looks and questions. Why couldn't they just let him go?

A touch on his hand – _Danny_ touching his hand – and he snatched it away immediately, glaring furiously. No! Danny shouldn't touch him. Not _ever._

"Rus'," Danny said in a whisper, unfastening his seatbelt and sliding across the back seat until he was sitting right next to Rusty, almost no space between them at all. "Please. Don't shut me out. I want to help you."

Danny _did_ want to help him. Of course Danny wanted to help him, for two years now that had been all Danny wanted from him, and there was a mess of feelings of guilt and unworthiness and confusion tied up with that thought, and a shame that had never been there before and that practically drowned out the wonder. He wasn't worth Danny's time. He wasn't worth Danny's attention. And he was far too _dirty_ for Danny to touch.

He didn't know how to explain that. Probably he couldn't have explained that even using words. He scrubbed anxiously at the back of his hand where Danny had touched him, and even there the flakes of blood and filth were apparent. He didn't...couldn't actually look at Danny, but he tried to broadcast the regret and the explanation, willing Danny to understand.

For a long second he could feel the weight of Danny's stare. Then insistently but slowly, as if still trying not to startle him, Danny leaned forwards and wrapped his arms around Rusty loosely.

"None of that makes a difference to me, Rus'," Danny whispered in his ear. "You're my friend. You're my everything. That's all that matters." Impossibly he brushed a kiss against Rusty's cheek, and Rusty should be shoving Danny away, should be concentrating on what was in Danny's best interests, because whatever Danny might say, _that_ was what was important.

Instead his treacherous hands curled in Danny's shirt, and he was clinging on like Danny could save him, and even as he trembled, Danny held him tighter.


	3. Chapter 3

Once they arrived at the hospital they were taken to the end of a corridor in ER, which was closed off by a couple of curtains so they had some privacy at least. Danny wasn't certain if this was normal, but then he didn't think that anything in this situation was normal. Right now he was content to hold Rusty's hand tightly and watch Saul handle the doctors and the cops and the social workers, and it seemed to Danny like Saul was the only thing keeping them from being overwhelmed.

Rusty hadn't pushed him away again, but Danny thought that was maybe because he wasn't really aware that Danny was touching him. The moment they'd actually got into the hospital Rusty had tensed up, plainly terrified. It had taken Danny a moment or two to realise why. The last time Rusty had been here...probably the only time Rusty had been here...had been the night Mom had taken him away.

Danny thought he would never forgive Mom for that.

He followed them, of course. He'd figured he could walk to the hospital within a few hours or so, but Mom had passed him on her way back and she'd stopped and dragged him bodily into the car. She'd said...hateful things. And he'd screamed at her, shouting and swearing. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum over losing his favourite toy, Mom had said, the disgust in her voice coming across loud and clear. And he'd tried to say that _people_ weren't toys, that _Rusty_ wasn't a toy, but she'd just looked at him scornfully and told him he was being silly. She said that Rusty was in the right place now. That they shouldn't get involved.

He hated her. That had been one of the worst nights of his life, and before that Rusty had been so hurt, and afterwards Rusty had been gone and he'd been so alone, and it was all so, so much worse for Rusty.

And all he could do was hold Rusty's hand and pray that, somehow, this would turn out alright.

"Okay," Saul said quietly, walking over to join them. "Danny, the cops are going to want to talk to you about everything. Rusty, they're going to examine you and take some photos."

Rusty let go of Danny's hand instantly and shrank back, drawing his legs up to his chest and all-but-disappearing into Saul's coat.

Saul sighed and crouched down in front of Rusty. "I know," he said sincerely, and somehow Danny thought that maybe he _did_ understand. "I will not lie to you, Rusty, it's going to be hard. But no one here is going to hurt you. They need to examine you in order to treat you, and they need to take the photographs in order to put that man in prison."

"Dr Mayhew," Danny clarified quietly. "I told you."

He could sense Rusty's suspicion and disbelief and he didn't know how to convince him.

Saul looked at Rusty seriously. "What was done to you," he began gently. "Was very wrong. Monstrous. One of the very worst crimes that can be committed. It is unforgivable and... _Dr_ Mayhew deserves to be punished for it. At the very least he will spend a very, very long time in prison. Do you understand, Rusty?"

A fractional shake of Rusty's head, as if he wasn't quite aware of having done it.

"One day you will," Saul promised softly. "In the meantime it is important that he doesn't get the chance to do that to you or any other child again. And it's even more important that you get the medical treatment you need, and you get to live somewhere safe, with plenty of food, where no one will hurt you.

Somewhere in the middle of Saul's speech, Rusty had shut down, shaking his head in blank, uncomprehending denial. Danny was frightened that if Saul pushed him any further right now, Rusty would crack and Saul seemed to realise it, because he changed the subject, turning to Danny instead.

"Danny, you'll need to call your parents. They need to know where you are."

He swallowed hard. "It's fine. I don't need to talk to them. They won't have noticed I'm gone yet."

Saul looked at him sharply. "Maybe not, but you still need to call them. If the police are going to interview you, they'll want to be there."

Danny thought about telling Mom that he was at the hospital with Rusty, and the police wanted to talk to him. "I _can't_ ," he whispered pleadingly.

To his surprise, Saul laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "If you'd rather I could call for you. But they'll probably want to talk to you as well. To be sure you're alright."

That sounded much better, and he wondered if that made him a coward.

There was a phone just a short distance down the corridor, thankfully, because he sure as hell wasn't going to be more than a few feet away from Rusty right now.

He dialled the numbed and handed Saul the phone and listened wonderingly as Saul talked to his Mom. It wasn't like the way that Saul talked to him or Rusty, it was like the way Saul had talked to the mayor and Mrs Warren. Sort of superior without being arrogant. Confident and confiding and absolutely, relentlessly charming and Danny had no doubt that Mom would fall for it just as the others had.

But it wasn't the way Saul talked to _them_ and Danny found himself wondering which was real? Was Saul just placating them or was he conning the rest of the world. He simply didn't know and it made him uneasy.

By the time Saul passed the phone to him, it seemed like Mom was resigned to the situation. Certainly she didn't start out yelling, and that was already more than he would have expected.

"I'll be there in an hour or so, Daniel. I have a couple of calls to make first. Do not talk to anyone before I get there, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mom," he agreed obediently, and he barely had time to say goodbye before she hung up.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Saul said quietly. "Your parents have to know where you are. It's the only responsible thing to do."

"She took Rusty away before," he said, equally softly. "He was hurt and she drove him here and just _left_ him."

Saul looked at him for long moment. "That isn't going to happen this time," he said.

Danny didn't know if he dared hope that wasn't just an empty promise. But nothing ever changed for the better.

* * *

They'd taken Rusty into the treatment room at long last. Just as well; Saul didn't think he could have stayed quiet about it too much longer. Seemed as if getting the injured traumatised child medical attention should have been further up the priority list, but then he wasn't a medical professional. It had taken a lot to persuade Rusty to go with the doctors, and Saul couldn't blame him. But it was necessary, after all, and he promised that these doctors weren't like Mayhew, that they only wanted to help him, and he'd actually seen Rusty's fingernails digging into his palms. That had been the point where he'd been going to insist that he accompany Rusty in, no matter that he wasn't a parent or guardian or connected in any way at all. But then one of the social workers – Julia, she'd introduced herself as – had stepped forwards and promised Rusty that once the doctors had finished with him, he could get cleaned up and she'd find him some clothes, and Rusty had just gone along quietly at that point. Saul wasn't exactly sure why. But apparently he wasn't needed, and that was the main thing.

Of course, convincing _Danny_ that he couldn't go with Rusty was even more difficult. Julia was sitting beside him now trying to engage him in conversation. Not an official statement, they'd agreed to wait until one of his parents was there but just some kind of casual chat to keep him occupied while Saul was taken off to give _his_ official statement.

Judging by the expression on his face, Danny's opinion was that Julia was an idiot, but that couldn't be helped right now. She wouldn't be enough to keep Danny from going after Rusty, but he thought that the look Rusty had given him might be. Seemed like a warning to wait outside, and he thought the upshot of that silent conversation was that Danny would respect Rusty's wishes for as long as he could.

In the meantime, Saul got to talk to the police. Not exactly a situation he was normally comfortable with. This time he was entirely truthful, the small matter of his name and occupation aside. They weren't interested in who he was just what he'd seen, and he felt sick as he relived it, offering every last detail, whatever they needed to keep Rusty safe and make sure Mayhew paid.

"Thank you, Mr Bergman," the cop said politely once he'd finished. "One thing. You've given us a local address, but you said you were from out of town – do you have a permanent address?"

He didn't even hesitate before he gave them his own real address, not the fake details he had for Bergman. This was too important to just walk away from, not knowing if the police might need him to testify or whatever. This wasn't some con he could just walk away from and never think of it again. This was...he was involved in this. Him, not Aaron Bergman. This was going to leave a mark on him.

"Thank you, Mr Bergman," the cop said again. "We'll be in touch."

He stood, knowing a dismissal when he heard it. But he paused, frowning at the cop. "The child...Rusty Ryan...what's going to happen to him do you think?"

"Mmm?" the cop looked up. "I don't know...they'll find a new placement for him I guess. Or maybe there'll be someone who can take him. He'll be just fine, don't worry for a second. We got some fine social workers here."

"Who sent him there in the first place," Saul commented with no particular tone.

The cop looked at him awkwardly and shrugged.

"Thank you for your time," Saul said quietly as he left.

This wasn't good enough. He couldn't just walk away and let Rusty get sent wherever, not even knowing if it was going to be any better than what he'd saved him from. No, somehow, he was going to have to meet whoever was going to take Rusty in and decide whether or not they were good enough.

Even at that thought, he felt uneasy and he couldn't quite explain why. At some point he was going to have to walk away from them. He was simply passing through their lives.

At the exact moment that he stepped back into the corridor, he heard a crash and a woman's scream from the direction they'd taken Rusty in. He was running immediately, registering as he passed that there was no sign of Danny, and he barrelled through the door and found himself in another, shorter corridor with a couple of offices, a restroom and two consulting rooms. There was the sound of raised voices coming from the first one, and without even thinking about it he burst in.

Two doctors, a nurse and Mrs Warren the social worker were standing around a bed, looking down at something on the floor. _Someone._ Rusty.

He was lying next to the bed, naked again, Saul's coat twisted beneath him, as if he'd been reaching for it. A small tray of medical instruments lay scattered around him on the floor. That explained the crash at least.

"What's going on?" Saul demanded.

"Never mind that, who are you?" demanded one of the doctors.

"That's Mr Bergman," Mrs Warren said helpfully. "He was with the boy earlier. He might be able to calm him."

Saul doubted it, but he was more than willing to try.

"He bit me!" the nurse interjected, outraged. "Look!"

Saul didn't bother looking. Instead he grabbed a gown from the shelf beside the bed and carefully – gently – dropped it over Rusty's shoulders. "There you go," he said, arranging it to cover Rusty as best he could without actually touching the child. He frowned at the lack of reaction to his proximity – every other time he'd got closer than a few feet, Rusty had tensed up and flinched away, waiting and trembling.

He looked more closely. Rusty's eyes were dull and vacant and his pupils were uneven pinpricks.

"You drugged him?" he demanded incredulously.

"Well, yes," the doctor said, as if it was obvious. "He objected to the internal examination. He wouldn't stop fighting us so we had to sedate him."

"It's a fast acting sedative," the other doctor said impatiently. "There are no major side effects and it should wear off within half an hour or so. We've checked his medical records; he's prescribed it."

Prescribed it. From everything Danny had told him, there had been nothing wrong with Rusty before he got sent to that place. "And who did the prescribing?" he asked very, very softly.

The first doctor paled and picked up the chart and flicked through it. "Dr Mayhew," he admitted.

"Yes," Saul agreed in a dangerous whisper, advancing on them. "I wonder just why a man like that would want to use a fast-acting sedative on a little boy, mmm?"

"Now, look here," the second doctor started angrily. "Whatever he's accused of, Dr Mayhew is a respected child psychiatrist. His diagnosis and prescriptions are not under question yet."

"Perhaps they should be," Saul suggested, turning back to crouch in front of Rusty. "Rusty?" he asked gently. "Do you think you can stand?"

No real response, but sluggishly Rusty got to his knees and then painfully to his feet, swaying drunkenly where he stood.

Saul bit his tongue on the suggestion that Rusty come back to the bed and lie down. Whatever was going on in Rusty's head, that would be far too easy for him to misinterpret. "Why don't you come sit down here for a bit," he said instead, indicating a chair in the corner of the room, away from the door and away from the doctors.

Rusty stumbled over obediently and sank down onto it, his legs twisted beneath him, his eyes closing drowsily.

Saul gazed at him worriedly. He didn't like seeing him like that. He should have insisted on staying with him. Rusty deserved better than this.

"Are you finished?" he asked the doctors, suddenly exhausted, and he didn't want to put Rusty through any more today.

"For today," the first doctor nodded. "He'll need follow up care."

Saul nodded. "And?" he said, creating an air of expectation as best he could.

The doctor walked right into it, talking to him and Mrs Warren as if he was making some kind of a report. "He has a great deal of bruising in various stages of healing, most of it indicative of prolonged physical abuse. This is supported by a series of welts across his back, arms and legs that suggest he has been whipped at least once recently. Additionally, he has four cracked ribs and signs of a minor concussion."

The calm catalogue of injuries made Saul feel sick inside. He couldn't stop imagining the hellish existence Rusty had been suffering.

"Three fingers on his right hand have been broken within the last eight weeks or so," the doctor went on. "There's no sign of any treatment. Unfortunately they've healed on their own, and they will have to be broken and reset."

Saul turned, looking at Rusty who was listing on the chair, watching the room with drowsy, frightened incomprehension. He could see the deformity in Rusty's hand now, the fingers twisted and curled against themselves. It looked impossibly painful. He imagined Rusty sitting alone and in pain, long enough for bones to set, and God, he longed to commit murder.

"To add to that," the second doctor cut in. "The patient appears to be severely underweight for his age and height, and does appear malnourished, though whether this is due to neglect or him refusing food owing to his illness is unclear. At any rate, it's likely he's suffering from various vitamin deficiencies as well, particularly vitamin C and D, judging by the examination of his teeth and gums. There's also some bruising and abrasions to the throat, but nothing that would explain the patient's mutism."

Mrs Warren was making notes grimly. "Is there evidence of sexual abuse?"

Saul didn't think that they needed evidence of that. He'd seen it for himself.

"Yes," the first doctor cut in, referring to his notes again. "The patient's genitals are severely bruised, and there is evidence of serious and prolonged anal trauma."

Clinical words to paint an awful picture. Rusty was staring at the floor, his hands gripping the edges of his chair desperately, and Saul had the sudden urge to take the child in his arms and promise to protect him.

"Is he fit enough to move?" Mrs Warren asked, now looking at notes of her own.

"Yes, that shouldn't be a problem," the second doctor confirmed. "He'll need food and rest and his stitches will need to be removed in a week or so, but I can see no reason why he can't be transferred tonight."

"Transferred where?" Saul asked sharply.

"The residents from the Institute will be moved to similar facilities around the state," Mrs Warren explained. "There's a place waiting for Robert in the Hibbert Unit, it's a secure adolescent unit around two hundred miles south of here. He'll receive the care he needs there."

Saul turned, and for the very first time, Rusty raised his head and looked him directly in the eyes, and Saul saw despair and agony and exhaustion beyond endurance, and a raw, desperate, hopeless plea.

Another institution. And even if there was no Dr Mayhew there, even if there was no abuse, was that really what was best for the child? Gloom and greyness, rigid rules and conformity. Locked away from normal life, locked away from Danny...it wasn't right. He couldn't see how Rusty could hope to heal that way.

And still there was that look in his eyes, wretched and bleak and lost, and he knew that Rusty never expected to heal.

He deserved a chance. He deserved so much more than a chance.

"I'll take him," Saul said out loud, and he hardly recognised his own voice. "Let me take him."

Mrs Warren blinked and looked at him doubtfully. "What? You?" she asked incredulously.

"Why not?" he said simply. "You said yourself that I was able to calm him."

"He needs treatment and - " the second doctor began.

Saul interrupted. " - yes, and wouldn't it be better for him to stay nearby so he can carry on getting treated here?" he asked. "Rather than be seen by completely different doctors a few hundred miles away?"

"Perhaps," the doctor admitted stiffly. "However, his mental state must be taken into consideration. His refusal to speak could be hiding a number of issues, and from what I've observed, he appears to be extremely withdrawn and his emotional affect appears severely blunted."

Mrs Warren was nodding. Saul gritted his teeth. "In English, please," he requested.

"He isn't reacting the way a child should," she explained. "He hasn't cried once that I've seen, and generally he's shown very few signs of distress, even when he has to be in pain. To be honest, I'm not sure how much he's really aware of what's happened to him."

Saul thought about the look in Rusty's eyes and swallowed hard. "He's aware," he said shortly. "Trust me."

"Yes, well. He has also exhibited some fairly bizarre behaviours," the doctor pressed on.

Staring, Saul found himself asking "What exactly would normal behaviour be in the circumstances?"

"He struggled and fought during the examination, and earlier while we were discussing the photographs, he ran naked out into the corridor, entered the restroom and drank straight from the tap," Mrs Warren said grimly, like it was proof of some major crime.

"Had you offered him anything to drink?" he asked with a wince of guilt, because _he_ hadn't either and he should've thought.

"Well, no," the doctor faltered.

Silently, Saul picked up a cup from the edge of the sink , rinsed it out and filled it with cold clear water. Had to be better than the men's room tap. He held it out towards Rusty. "Still thirsty?" he asked quietly.

Rusty gazed dizzily at the cup, his head still lolling slightly. His hand twitched fractionally, as if he wanted to reach out but didn't quite dare.

Saul figured that was as close to a yes as he was going to get, and he crouched beside Rusty and steadied the cup so he could drink. As he did so, he noticed that Rusty seemed slightly more alert. The sedative must be wearing off and that was something at least.

"Better?" he murmured, and without looking at him, Rusty nodded ever so slightly.

The first doctor was watching them thoughtfully. "You know maybe he should take the lad home?" he said abruptly.

"Yes," Saul agreed quietly. "You have lots of children to get settled. Why not make things easier on yourself? I can look after him."

Everyone started talking at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying, please let me know what you think. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Rusty followed Mrs Warren through the door meekly, his head ducked low, his teeth tearing through his lip. The door closed behind them with a bang and he managed to suppress the flinch, ruthlessly digging his fingers into the back of his hand, and the pain focused him at least a little. No way he was going to let them see he was scared. But still he found his eyes automatically flickering along the corridor, seeking out escape routes. There was nothing. No windows, no exit signs. Maybe the rooms would have windows, but he couldn't count on it. The only out of here was back the way he came. Not that he was going to run. He _wasn't_ going to run. They'd promised that if he did what they wanted, they'd give him clothes and let him wash the filth off. And he didn't know if they'd keep their word, but it seemed worth trying at least.

"Just in here," Mrs Warren told him, speaking slowly and exaggeratedly, before she opened the door. There were two men and a woman waiting in there. The men were wearing white coats and looking at him expectantly. He could feel his legs trembling and he had to force himself to walk forwards instead of turning tail and running. He'd agreed to this. He'd _agreed._

Least Danny hadn't followed him. He'd been afraid that Danny might, in spite of his pleas. Danny had seen enough of his humiliation. Seeing this would only hurt Danny. Hurt both of them.

"Hello there, young man," one of the doctors said with a cheerfulness that made Rusty shudder inside. Was like the way Lucas talked to him when they were playing one of Lucas' 'games'. He only hoped this man didn't want the same things. He'd be grateful, but he couldn't act like he enjoyed it, he just couldn't. "Now, the first thing we're going to do is take a few photos of you. So we just need you to take that coat off, okay?"

Stiffly, he tried to force his hands to obey, but he just found himself clinging tightly to Saul's coat.

"I know this is difficult, Robert, but it has to be done," Mrs Warren told him. "Please at least _try._ "

He _was_ trying. He was trying to be good, just like he'd tried earlier to be good for Dr Mayhew, but somehow he always seemed to disappoint.

Everyone was watching him. He willed himself to take the coat off, but somehow he couldn't.

The doctor nodded at the nurse and she stepped forwards and briskly stripped him, and his instinctive struggles to hold onto the coat were for nothing. There was blood all over the lining, he noted fearfully. He'd ruined it. ( _He ruined everything._ )

He stood in front of them, naked and shivering, while one of the doctors fetched the camera.

Dr Mayhew liked to take his picture so he knew how this worked. He stood the way the told him to, bent and twisted at their command as they photographed every inch of his body. Even when they had him lie on his back and spread his legs wide, he didn't attempt to cover himself. He even managed to keep his face blank.

Inside his head he was screaming though. He hated this. He hated every second of this. They were looking at him, studying every inch of him, possessing him, and he felt like he might just shrivel up and die. Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself grimly. Clothes and clean. He was gonna have to do more than pose a little before he deserved them, no matter how obedient he was. This was just the start. And Saul had promised they wouldn't hurt him.

They finished taking the pictures and he surreptitiously rolled onto his side. Lying on his back hurt too much, especially after he'd had to sit in the car all that time; he wanted to try and ease some of the pressure on his bottom.

They were talking about him and he hated it. He wished he could just disappear. And he heard one of them talking about rape. Simply the word sent a wash of panic down his spine. That wasn't what happened, but if they thought that was what he was accusing Dr Mayhew of...he could understand why everyone was so angry.

Rape was when a man had sex with a woman after she said no, and that wasn't true here. He wouldn't have dared say 'no' even if he could have. And yes, he'd sat through the awkward classes in school when Mrs May carefully avoided eye contact and told them never to let anyone touch them in their bathing suit areas, and he'd understood what she carefully wasn't saying...but that wasn't real. It was just more of the lies that adults told to kids to make the world nicer – like Santa Claus. Reality was lying in a dark cell, in your own filth, and being told there was only one way you could have worth. That you were simply there to be _used._ It wasn't rape if it was meant to happen. It wasn't rape if you had no choice.

His mouth was dry and he could still taste the salt and slime he'd swallowed. He wanted the taste out of his mouth. He wanted the taste gone and he wanted the thirst gone. He looked round the room – there was a sink with cups in the far corner, but the doctors were standing in front of it. No way he'd be able to get there without them noticing him.

Problem was, he wasn't sure whether water – for drinking – was something he should be grateful for or not. No one had ever specifically said, but when he'd been lying on the floor of his cell, his throat so dry he thought it might be bleeding, he really _had_ been grateful when Dr Mayhew had brought him water. Even when he'd poured it straight onto the floor in front of him, Rusty had still been thankful for it. Dr Mayhew didn't have to give him anything after all. He could very easily have left Rusty there to rot. But he hadn't put a price on drinking water the way he had on food and maybe that meant it was okay. But still he didn't want to risk it.

There'd been a restroom across the corridor. Mind made up, he quickly slipped off the bed and hobbled as fast as he could. No one noticed until he'd reached the door.

"Hey!" the nurse shouted sharply.

He cringed and flung the door open and practically threw himself across the corridor, falling into the restroom and grabbing for the nearest sink. They were coming after him, he could hear them. He put his mouth to the tap, turned it on and drank from it desperately.

The water was warm and tasted vaguely bitter, but it eased the harsh pain in his throat, and he was confident if he could just drink enough, the taste Dr Mayhew left behind would wash away too.

"That's enough," at the doctor said with authority from behind him.

Except he was wrong and it wasn't enough and he kept on sucking frantically even after the water stopped and it was just dripping. He didn't stop until they grabbed him and hauled him away, taking him back into the consulting room.

"It isn't appropriate to wander around naked," Mrs Warren told him in a slow disapproving tone.

Ashamed, he looked down and awkwardly tried to cover himself with his hands. He didn't want to be naked, but they'd taken Saul's coat and he'd been thirsty and right at that moment, that had seemed more important than his shame. But now they were all looking at him again, and he was dirty and worthless, and he longed to run and hide, to find some deep hole to hide in where he'd never be found again. He wanted to go back to the restroom and instead of wasting time drinking the water, to scrub and scrub until bit by bit he was washed away to nothing.

"Alright, young man, now we've taken photos it's time for your examination and treatment. Jump up onto the bed again," the doctor instructed.

He did as he was told, lying still, his hand tightened around the metal edge of the bed. They started touching him, cleaning him, pouring stuff over his injuries that stung and left him gasping for breath. Every touch made him feel sick, fighting not to struggle and squirm away.

Their hands were all over him and the terror was hammering at the inside of his chest. He wanted this to stop. He wanted all of this to stop. He almost wished he was back in the basement because at least there he knew what to expect. Here, there were no certainties, and he watched fearfully as they examined the punishment marks that covered him. They spent an especially long time looking at the welts on his back, rubbing them with some kind of cream that burned him. Saul had promised they weren't going to hurt him. This _hurt_ , and he tried to get away, tried to push them away, but they just held him down and moved on to examining his hand, bending each finger in turn and that hurt too.

He tried to catch his breath, tried to calm down even a little, but his heart was racing and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. If they figured out what had happened, they'd know how awful he was. That had been when he'd tried to escape. He'd been at the front door, his hand outstretched, and Stuart had grabbed him and hauled him back, and James slammed the door shut. He fell to the ground, huddled and shaking, his hand cradled against his chest. They told him how bad he'd been and James had opened the door again and Stuart had laid Rusty's hand over the threshold and they'd both laughed as the door crashed shut again. His hand had been trailing blood when they'd both dragged him down to the Quiet Room.

Hadn't he been punished enough? Couldn't they just leave him alone? Why wouldn't they just leave him alone.

"Alright," the doctor said presently. "Roll over onto your hands and knees, please."

_No!_ He took a deep breath, struggling to comply. He'd expected this. This wasn't anything bad. They were going to use him, but Saul had promised they wouldn't hurt him so it wouldn't be anything too rough. He just had to put up with it, that was all. He was already cleaner than he had been, and they said they'd find him clothes, so he just had to be good and grateful and do what he was told.

Except he couldn't. His breathing was fast and jerky and he was shaking uncontrollably and he couldn't do what they wanted, he just couldn't.

Hands reached out as if to roll him over, and he struck out blindly. He didn't want this. He didn't _want_ this. He didn't...

There was a cry of surprise and the hands were pressing on his chest, gripping his arms, pinning him down, and after a second of struggling he was unceremoniously flipped onto his stomach. He should just lie still and let them use him. That was what he was supposed to do. He was trying to show them that he was good now, that he deserved to be sent back to Dad.

The sound of a bottle popping behind him and he gasped as something cold dripped down into his crack. Lube, he assumed dully. They were going to use lube, and that should be a relief, should be something else he was expecting, because Saul had _promised_ they wouldn't hurt him. Except at the first touch of fingers rubbing it in he lost it, panicked and struggling, kicking out desperately, and if he had a voice he would have been pleading with them.

He heard them talking behind him. Shouting – at him? He couldn't tell. All that mattered was getting _away._ Then he felt something stabbing into his bottom, and a second later all his strength – everything – faded away.

He'd been sedated before. He knew what it felt like. He knew he couldn't fight against it, and he was barely aware as his knees were forced up so he was crouched on the bed with his bottom sticking up in the air. Still he tried to get away, but his limbs were impossibly heavy and moving was unthinkable. In the end, he couldn't even keep his eyes open.

Helplessly he lay there as they got started. Whatever they gave him numbed him somewhat, but he still felt himself being spread and stretched, and just because he couldn't feel the pain didn't mean he couldn't feel the fingers moving inside him.

Jut like always there was no escape. Not really. He was a fool to believe there ever could be. But the drugs left a cotton wool buzzing feeling in his head, and if he concentrated on that, he could try and ignore it as he felt something much larger being forced up inside him, stretching him impossibly wide. Try as he might, his memory supplied the rest of the details to come, the thrusting, the grunting the rhythmic slapping of flesh. The drugs offered a plateau of nothingness, and he floated there gratefully, only the occasional stabbing pain intruding.

Eventually, vaguely, he became aware that they'd stopped for the moment and the nurse was cleaning up the stickiness from him. That really was very nice of her, and he felt a burst of gratitude. Normally he had to clean himself up as best he could.

But she was still _touching_ him, and that still made him feel sick and it was oh, so much better when she finally stopped and he was left alone.

With an effort, he managed to half roll, half fall onto his side, his legs drawn up close to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around him. Contained. Hidden. Less vulnerable, at least a little.

He felt even dirtier than he had before. Clothes. He wanted clothes. They'd said he could have clothes, if he was good. He raised his head vaguely and saw Saul's coat lying on the chair.

_(Saul had promised they wouldn't hurt him. And they hadn't, not really. So why did he feel betrayed?)_

But he reached out, trying to get to the coat, and just as he grasped it, somehow he found himself falling, knocking over the table by the bed just before he hit the floor. He lay stunned for a moment, the coat beneath his hands, and as he blinked, the nurse was suddenly crouching over him, too close and touching him.

"Let's get you back to bed," she said from a long way away, her voice echoing around his head.

No! He didn't...he couldn't go through it again. Not so soon. _Please_ not so soon. He twisted around, shuddering as her hand brushed over his face, and he wanted her to stop, he _needed_ her to stop and before he'd even thought about it, he was sinking his teeth into her hand as hard as he could.

He winced as she screamed. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn't have done that. He was really going to be in trouble now.

It seemed like he drifted off, or something, because then somehow Saul was there, covering him with a hospital gown. Made him feel warmer than it should Almost...safe. And that had to be the drugs.

Saul was talking to the doctors now, and try as he might, Rusty couldn't focus enough to understand. Maybe they were telling Saul how bad his behaviour had been. He wasn't sure, but when Saul came back over and asked him to move over to the chair, he obeyed as fast as he could, despite the way his legs felt like jelly.

For a while he had to concentrate just on taking his next breath, grasping tight to the chair and struggling to stay awake. Gradually he became aware that they were talking about him. Deciding what to do with him. Another institute. They were gonna lock him up someplace worse and throw away the key. He was never going to be free again. Never going to see Danny again. He wanted...he just wanted...he didn't _know,_ but he looked up at Saul helplessly, pleading for something he couldn't even give words to.

Saul stared at him for a long moment, and Rusty didn't understand the look in his eyes.

"I'll take him," Saul said at last. "Let me take him."

He stared dumbly as Saul argued with the doctors. Saul wanted to take him? Why? He didn't understand. Would that even be any better than the Institute? Saul hadn't hurt him so far, he supposed, but he remembered the fury he'd attacked Dr Mayhew with, and it was all too easy to imagine that anger turned on him, soon as he fucked up. Only a matter of time. And that was twice now Saul had given him clothes to hide in, but Saul had _also_ given him to the doctors to use. On the other hand, he _had_ told them not to hurt him and they hadn't.

He didn't _know._ But then, it wasn't like he'd get a choice anyway.

He was even more confused when Saul offered him a mug of water. It was cool and cleared his head some, and he waited for the catch, convinced that somehow this must be a trick; that he'd have to pay for the kindness later.

But instead Saul smiled at him. No one had ever smiled at Rusty quite like that before and it terrified him.

In a dream he watched as Saul opened the door fractionally and returned with a pile of clothes which he lay on the bed. "Will you be alright getting dressed yourself?" he asked Rusty and Rusty could only stare dimly before standing and touching the clothes lightly.

Wonderingly, he watched as Saul drew the curtains around the bed space, giving him privacy as though he somehow deserved it.

Uncertainly, he examined the clothes. A pair of jeans, a red button down shirt, a pair of blue sneakers...underwear. They weren't new but they were nice. Nicer than most of the clothes he'd owned in his life. He bit his lip, unsure and suspicious. Were they really for him? He definitely hadn't done anything to earn them.

But if he refused then he'd make Saul mad and he'd still be naked besides...

Trembling, he dressed as fast as he could and every little movement hurt, and the clothes rasped painfully over his injuries. Fortunately the shirt and jeans were both too big for him, hanging loosely. The fingers he'd broken didn't work properly anymore and that made buttoning the shirt difficult and time consuming, but it made tying his shoelaces impossible. He bit his tongue in frustration, and after his sixth attempt he decided to give up. He didn't want to keep anyone waiting – they might get angry.

He pulled the curtain back and stepped out, eyes darting round the room quickly. Saul was still there, and Mrs Warren and one of the doctors. Everyone else had gone.

"Are the clothes okay?" Saul asked, looking him over keenly.

Rusty tried not to stare. Just the _question..._ He managed to duck his head quickly in an approximation of a nod.

"Good," said Saul. "They're a little big on you. We'll find you something better as soon as we can."

Something _better._ The dread and unease increased tenfold. He couldn't even imagine what he'd have to do to pay back something like that.

"Oh..." Saul went on, looking at Rusty's shoelaces, and he felt himself start to flush. Then Saul glanced quickly at his hand. "I'm sorry. I should have thought."

To Rusty's astonishment, Saul knelt on the ground in front of him and deftly tied his laces for him.

"There," Saul said softly. "All done." He didn't stand, looking up at Rusty, looking him straight in the eyes and somehow Rusty couldn't bring himself to look away. "I'm going to be looking after you now, Rusty," he began.

"Only for a few days," Mrs Warren interrupted disapprovingly. "It's just an emergency temporary placement. So don't get too settled."

Saul rolled his eyes and immediately looked guilty and Rusty actually felt the tiniest stirring of amusement.

"For a few days to start with," Saul agreed. "I hope that's okay. I promise I'll take care of you properly. I'll never hurt you."

Now he looked away, uncertain of what Saul expected. This was all too much and he was so very tired.

Saul sighed and stood up. "Alright. For the moment, let's go find Danny, huh?"

* * *

Danny couldn't sit still. Rusty had walked away and he knew that Rusty had been scared, and Danny hadn't been able to reassure him. Mostly because he couldn't say it was going to be okay. He didn't care for the way the social workers were looking at Rusty. He'd seen too many people looking at Rusty like that. A look of pity that never seemed to lead to anything. He thought that maybe they were going to take Rusty away again. Certainly he didn't want Rusty to go back to his parents, but he hadn't exactly heard anyone offering any alternatives.

And right now – _right now –_ Rusty was hurting worse than Danny had ever seen before. And when he thought of what had been done to Rusty...God. He wanted to hold onto Rusty and never let go. He shouldn't have left Rusty on his own, but that look that Rusty had given him had been clear enough. Rusty didn't want him anywhere close right now, and there'd been a threat in Rusty's eyes, that if Danny tried to follow he wouldn't go anywhere at all. And Rusty needed to see a doctor. God help him, he'd seen the bruises, and the blood caked on Rusty's thighs.

Wasn't something he'd ever had to think about before, but he could imagine how Rusty had been torn up inside. In his head, he saw it again. Rusty struggling beneath that man. Saw the absolute terror and confusion and disgust he'd seen in Rusty's eyes.

He rubbed his eyes fiercely, pressing back the tears. Crying wouldn't help Rusty. Danny had to stay strong for him.

"Are you alright?" Julia asked solicitously. "You know, it's okay for you to be upset by what you've seen today. You've been through a lot." She laid a hand on his shoulder gently, almost the same way Saul had.

"Rusty's the one who's been through a lot," he said shortly. "I'm fine."

"But he's your friend," she said, dropping her voice to a near whisper. "Isn't he? And you shouldn't have had to see him like that."

What he'd _seen?_ What he'd seen was only the smallest fraction of what Rusty had lived. And nothing in his life had ever hurt him _more_ , but that really wasn't the point.

Rusty _was_ his friend. The very best friend he'd ever have. And he wasn't going to let them treat him like a child and cut him out of the loop.

But Julia had been nice enough so far. While he'd been sitting waiting, swinging his feet and going out of his head, she'd suggested he come up to the children's ward with her and pick out some clothes for Rusty. He didn't know if this was lost property or stuff that had been donated or what, but there wasn't much of a selection. Still he went through it all carefully, picking out everything that looked close to the right size and finding the things Rusty would like best. And she'd even taken him to the canteen after.

"I'm doing alright," he told her, fixing her with a look that was both calm and reassuring. "I just want to be able to look after Rusty."

"That might not be possible you know," she warned him anxiously. "We don't know what's going to happen with him."

"But he's going to need friends," Danny said, regarding her evenly. "He needs me." Rusty did need him. He took a deep breath. "What do you think is going to happen to him?"

She looked away from him quickly. Shiftily, even. "I don't know. But he'll be taken care of, I promise."

He gritted his teeth. "Your friends have been telling me every day for the past five months that he's being taken care of." She shifted guiltily. "And all that time he was being _raped._ You saw him. You saw what your people's care did. Rusty's...he's smart, he's funny, he's brave and tough as hell, and he's the best friend I can imagine. He doesn't deserve any of this."

The door opened fractionally and she glanced over to it relieved, before walking over with the clothes and holding a brief, murmured conversation in the doorway.

She came back and sat down beside him again a few moments later. "Your friend will be out in a little while," she said comfortingly. "He's just getting dressed now." She hesitated. "Apparently Mr Bergman is taking him home for a few days. That's good, isn't it?"

Saul was going to take Rusty? Danny didn't know if that was good or not. Had to be better than a lot of alternatives, he supposed, but Rusty didn't trust Saul and Danny had only met him today. Yes, he _liked_ Saul, but it seemed like Saul put a lot of effort into making sure everyone liked him, so maybe he couldn't rely on that. Rusty had asked him what Saul wanted, and he didn't have an answer. All he knew was that Saul was good at lying to people and Rusty had been hurt too much already.

He stared at the door, willing it to open, and when it finally did, he only had eyes for Rusty. Rusty had been cleaned up and he was wearing the clothes Danny had picked up, but his head was ducked low, hiding his eyes, and if anything he looked more exhausted and beaten down than he had before.

Danny was in his feet immediately, running across to Rusty, reaching out to take his hand. Rusty stepped back ( _fearfully_ ), and Danny stopped dead. "Sorry, Rus'," he said quietly. He could see the bitter exhaustion on Rusty's face and he longed to reach out and take Rusty into his arms the way he had five months ago.

"I got some food," he offered softly, gesturing back to the chairs where the stuff he'd got from the canteen was waiting. "Selection was a bit limited, but I got some fries, chocolate pudding and a bag of chips. I thought you'd be hungry." Rusty looked hungry. He looked starved, and certainly his eyes lit up at the mention of food, and he looked longingly over towards the polystyrene box of fries, but his eyes flickered back to Danny's, asking an urgent question.

Danny frowned, watching Rusty's face carefully, trying to understand. "I used my own money," he said slowly and by the flash of relief he'd answered the right question. But he didn't understand why it was important.

Still, he guided Rusty over to the chairs and hovered over him anxiously as Rusty clambered awkwardly onto the chair, sitting down with his legs curled under him like he was trying to avoid everywhere that hurt. But Danny could see the pain Rusty was trying to hide and he didn't think that there was any escape from it.

"Here," he said simply, passing Rusty the fries. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Saul giving him a smile of approval and he felt again that confusing surge of pride. Like Saul's opinion mattered, and after all, he wasn't even sure how far he trusted Saul.

Wasn't important right now. Rusty got all his attention and Rusty was looking around the adults uncertainly like...like he was looking for permission to eat.

The shirt sleeve had rode up Rusty's arms. Danny thought that he might be able to hold both of Rusty's wrists with one hand and still have room to spare. His heart ached. "I got you the food," he reminded Rusty softly. "You can eat it. Please."

Rusty looked up at him quickly, and only Danny would see the apology and the thanks, and they weren't what he _wanted._ But then, at least Rusty was eating, watching the adults all the time as though he expected the food to be taken away at an moment. But the doctor had drawn Julia and Mrs Warren and a reluctant-looking Saul away into conversation, and seizing the chance, Rust started eating faster.

With a pang, Danny was reminded of the very first day they'd met. Sharing his lunch. The desperate and the suspicious, like the food might be some kind of a trick.

"Don't eat too fast," he warned gently. "You'll make ourself sick."

Rusty nodded and slowed fractionally, but Danny could _feel_ his hunger.

"When did you last eat?" he asked before he could stop himself, an edge to his voice.

There was a flash of shame in Rusty's eyes and then his expression shut down and he shrugged indifferently and continued eating. He looked up a few moments later, his eyes seeking Danny's and there was another plea there.

Danny swallowed hard. No questions. Act normally. Talk like there was nothing wrong.

That might just be the hardest thing Rusty had ever asked of him, but Rusty _had_ asked it.

He took a deep breath. "Had a math test last week and Jimmy and Buzz spent the whole time trying to cheat off each other. I swear, I don't think either of them actually tried to answer any of the questions. Got to the stage I was thinking about passing them my paper just to get them off the hook before Mr Carr noticed." The story was weak, just the first bit of gossip that had popped into his head, but Rusty listened to him intently, as hungry for even this touch of normalcy as he was for food.

Despite the pained lump in his throat, Danny kept on talking, going over silly little things that had happened in school, or stuff he'd seen on TV. Anything that might amuse Rusty, and he tried not to think about how _obscene_ it was to be sitting here talking about things that didn't matter when Rusty was...had been... He bit his tongue hard and kept talking. Whatever Rusty needed. Always.

Rusty managed to finish half the fries and the pudding, and he sat next to Danny, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

Danny wasn't exactly sure what was supposed to happen next. It was getting late. He sighed, remembering something. "Here," he said, pulling a Snickers bar out of his pocket and passing it over. He felt sort of stupid. He wasn't even sure if Rusty would understand the gesture. Hell, he wasn't even clear on exactly what he was trying to say.

Rusty looked at the candy bar for a long moment.

"I'm _sorry,_ " Danny said in a whisper. "I should've found you sooner. I should've tried harder." The apology was inadequate. Nothing could make this right. He'd let Rusty be taken away from him to the worst hell imaginable.

Rusty raised his head quickly, looking Danny straight in the eyes and Danny was caught by the fierce neverblame, the unwavering faith and the absolute certainty that Rusty cared about him every bit as much as he cared about Rusty.

He could feel himself shaking. "Rus'..."

Without looking away from him, Rusty carefully broke the chocolate in two and pressed half into Danny's hand.

Danny felt like he might just start crying.

He didn't speak. There was nothing left to say. They sat together and ate their chocolate and he tried to offer Rusty all the silent comfort he had inside him.

They'd just finished when Mom swept in.

Her brow was dark and she was already scowling when she saw him, and when she saw _Rusty..._ He automatically leaned forwards, trying to shield Rusty from that expression, but he was aware of the terror and tension beside him as Mom stared openly. Bitterly he wondered if the sight of the injuries and the weight-loss made her feel guilty. She didn't even know the worst of it, and he prayed she never would.

At last, she averted her eyes, and there was at least a tinge of shock in her face.

"Daniel!" she snapped, turning her face away like she was pretending that Rusty didn't exist. "What have you been doing? What is all this? I don't appreciate being dragged out here. I've warned you, I'm losing patience with you."

He knew how much his searching for Rusty had angered Mom over the past months. And now he'd found Rusty...from Mom's point of view, he didn't imagine that made the situation any better.

"I haven't done anything wrong," he said quietly. "The cops want to talk to me about what I saw and they need a parent here. That's all."

"That's all?" she echoed with furious incredulity. "The police want to talk to you? I've warned you about the company you keep, Daniel. If you think I want you - "

" - Mrs Ocean, I presume," Saul cut in smoothly. "I'm Saul Bergman, we spoke earlier on the phone. I apologise for all the worry you've been caused, I assure you, no one saw any of this coming."

Mom turned to look at him, evidently caught off balance. "Yes, well...I'm still not sure what's been going on here."

"Thanks to your son, we've uncovered evidence of a horrific crime," Saul explained. He glanced briefly down at Danny. "He's a real credit to you. Intelligent and brave and loyal. You should be very proud of him."

She didn't look proud of him. But some of the anger had faded from her face and she seemed confused and uncertain, more than anything else. And she was looking at Saul and he could see her sizing him up, and his clothes, his voice his... _charm..._ oh, Danny knew what impressed her. "Thank you," she said politely. "I'm sorry, I'm still not - "

" - you must be Danny's mother," a new voice cut in, and Danny turned to see Anderson walking in, a police officer walking a step behind. "Mayor Anderson, pleased to meet you."

Stunned, Mom shook the proffered hand.

"May I just say," Anderson went on," You have a very fine young man here. Very fine indeed. But I'm just here to check on our young patient." He smiled at Rusty, who didn't even look up at him. Danny thought he was busy pretending he didn't exist.

"It's very nice to meet you, sir," Mom said, automatically dropping into schmoozing mode. "I believe you know my brother, Harold Keller?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Anderson nodded immediately, and Danny would be perfectly willing to bet that he didn't remember Uncle Harold in the slightest.

"Now," Mom went on, her voice wandering between ingratiating and imperious. "Would someone be good enough to tell me what's going on here?"

"It seems one of our local children's homes was...abusing our trust and their charges," Anderson said slowly. "By chance, Danny here led us straight to it. He's to be commended."

Danny winced as Mom immediately turned to stare at Rusty. "I see," she said slowly. "And Daniel needs to give a statement now?"

"It can wait till the morning, ma'am," the police officer commented, stepping forwards. "Since it's so late. You can bring him to the station in the morning. Ask for Lieutenant Hodge."

That was good. Somewhere beneath anxiety and adrenaline, Danny had to admit, he was exhausted.

"Good," Mom nodded sharply. "Come along, Daniel. Let's go home."

Wait. No. "I need to stay with Rusty," he protested.

Mom made a huffy noise of exasperation. Rusty was looking at him fearfully.

Dully, he realised he wasn't going to win this argument. Mom was going to drag him home, away from Rusty, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Almost unwillingly, he looked at Rusty, his eyes full of helpless apologies, and Rusty's eyes were defeated and afraid.

With a sigh, Saul sat down beside him. "You should go with your mother, Danny. Don't worry. I'll look after Rusty, I promise."

"You'll look after the boy?" Mom blurted out.

"Yes," Saul said without looking at her. "I'm taking care of Rusty now."

Danny kept careful eye contact with Saul. He wished he was older. He wished he looked more threatening. "If you hurt him..." he warned Saul softly, and he didn't know exactly what he was threatening, he only knew that he meant it, and he heard Anderson snort and he knew how ridiculous he looked. A twelve year old threatening a grown man.

Somehow, for some reason, Saul took him seriously. "I never will," he promised gravely. He produced a business card and gave it to Danny. "This is my address and my number. Come round and see us tomorrow. With your mother's permission of course."

"First thing tomorrow," Danny stated. With or without Mom's permission.

Satisfied, he turned to Rusty, who was watching him with dulled eyes. "Rus'..." He reached out slowly, making sure that Rusty could see what he was doing, and he carefully wrapped his arms around Rusty. He could feel Rusty trembling, and Rusty pulled away from him almost immediately, but he still wanted Rusty to know he cared. "I'll see you tomorrow," he promised, and he swore he would, no matter what.

* * *

Saul couldn't remember being this tired before in his life And if _he_ was exhausted he couldn't even begin to imagine how Rusty was feeling right now

The last few hours he'd argued harder than he ever had before He'd been persuasive and he'd been relentless and gradually he'd worn away all resistance. Him taking Rusty gave them one less thing to worry about in a night that was full of problems. When they'd left, those in charge had been preparing to examine and interview the rest of the children, and figure out which of the staff should be arrested. Everyone, if Saul got a say, but that wasn't what his focus was. Right now he'd agreed to provide a home for Rusty until Tuesday, when the circumstances would be reexamined. And the police would be looking to talk to Rusty soon, and he'd pointed out that Rusty didn't talk, but apparently there were specialists trained to deal with that. Of course, none of them were around until Monday morning, and until that point? Saul was on his own. Oh, he had numbers to call for emergencies, and he'd been instructed – ordered, really – to bring Rusty straight back to the hospital if he had any concerns about his physical health, but other than that, he'd been given some medication, a pair of pyjamas and a cushion, and left to hope for the best.

What mattered was making sure Rusty was safe and as comfortable as possible for as long as Saul had him. Once he was assured of that, he could start talking to the social workers about finding Rusty somewhere permanent.

He'd managed to organise a cab to take them back to his apartment, and he sat in the backseat and watched Rusty try not to nod off against the window, pinching the back of his hand surreptitiously when he thought Saul wouldn't notice. Bed first, he decided. He'd make sure Rusty got plenty of sleep and then tomorrow he'd try talking to him about...everything.

The apartment wasn't particularly homely he realised with a wince as he ushered Rusty inside. He'd selected it with impressing marks in mind, and it wasn't exactly child friendly. At least there was a spare room.

"Well, this is it," he told Rusty, sounding ridiculous to himself. "That's the kitchen just through there, the bathroom is here, that's my room and here is where you'll be sleeping." He opened the door and encouraged Rusty to take a step inside.

The room was fairly large, painted in shades of cream with a desk, a wardrobe and a single bed under the window. He eyed it unhappily. Not really a child's room. He'd need to do something about that. Maybe get a brighter bedspread, a few decorations...some toys at least. Things to make the room Rusty's.

Rusty barely glanced around, staring straight at the bed, his shoulders slumped. Evidently he wanted to get to bed as soon as possible. Saul was sympathetic.

"Do you want some food before bed?" he offered. "I could make you a sandwich, or I think there's a packet of cookies in the cupboard." Rusty shook his head quickly, and after all, he'd eaten the food that Danny had brought back not long ago. "How about something to drink?" he checked and again, Rusty shook his head. "Alright then," he said with a sigh. "That social worker, Julia, found some pyjamas for you." He laid them down carefully on the bed. "Get washed up and get ready for bed."

Rusty nodded jerkily, grabbed the pyjamas and quickly headed into the bathroom.

Yawning, Saul went and sat in the living room, waiting for him. A toothbrush. That was something else he'd need to get. Toothbrush, comb, shoes, clothes...it was going to be a long list. And he'd need to try and find out what Rusty liked too. What were his favourite colours, what foods did he like eating, what did he like to _do?_ Even if Saul only had him for a few days, he was going to do his best to make him happy.

Some time passed before he heard the bathroom door open, and he wandered out into the hall to see Rusty hovering awkwardly in the bedroom door. "You okay?" he asked, frowning.

Rusty didn't respond, and alarmed, Saul stepped close and realised that Rusty was trembling. "Hey," he said, stepping into Rusty's line of vision, and he could see the shudder of effort as Rusty fought not to step back. "What's wrong?"

There was no answer. Naturally. But Saul was beginning to see a difference between the times when Rusty wanted to answer the question, and the times when Rusty shut down and tried to hide everything that was going on in his head. And right now, Rusty was hiding.

He sighed. "Why don't you lie down?" he suggested.

Slowly, Rusty crept over towards the bed and put his hand on the cover, leaning over and looking back over his shoulder.

Saul's breath caught in his throat. The _look_ in Rusty's eyes.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, with soft, horrified insistence. "I'm _never_ going to hurt you, you understand, Rusty?"

Rusty nodded ever so slightly, but he flinched as Saul walked over to him and drew back the covers. "Lie down," he advised Rusty gently.

After a second's hesitation, Rusty lay down on his stomach. Saul carefully pulled the blanket over him, tucking it around his shoulders.

"Get some sleep," he said. "You're safe now. I know today has been awful...more than just today," he added quickly. "But try and get some sleep and come get me if you need anything or if you have a nightmare..." He took a deep breath and laid his hand lightly on Rusty's shoulder, through the blanket, hoping it was reassuring. "Whatever you need," he promised. "Goodnight, Rusty."

He walked out of the room quietly, turning off the light and closing the door behind him, trying to give Rusty a little space.

For a long time he stood in the hallway. There wasn't the slightest sound from the bedroom. He hoped that Rusty had dropped off to sleep right away.

Eventually, exhausted, he headed to bed.

He lay awake for a long time, unable to stop thinking about everything he'd seen today. God, how could _anyone..._ His fists were clenched tightly and it was with an effort that he forced himself to calm down.

He was listening for the smallest sound, the tiniest hint that he was needed. There was nothing and he didn't know if he should be relieved or disappointed. Truthfully, he didn't know what he was _doing_ here. Earlier, the decision had seemed easy. In fact, it hadn't seemed like a decision at all, simply an inevitable response to that desperate, heartpiercing need. Now...now he was all too aware of exactly how out of his depth he really was.

Eventually, when he couldn't bear it any longer, he got out of bed and tiptoed through into the hall. To his alarm, the other bedroom door was slightly ajar. His heart in his mouth, he pushed it open.

The bed was neatly made, the pyjamas folded on the pillow. The room was empty. Rusty was gone.

_Damn._ He was a fool.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter is particularly unpleasant. Nothing that isn't already covered by the tags, but still.

The cold was almost painful and he stumbled quickly through the streets, almost tripping over his shoelaces, hugging his arms around himself tightly, trying to hold the warmth ( _and pain_ ) inside of him. He didn't know exactly where he was going to, he just knew that he had to get away from Saul and from confusing words and sickeningly soft beds and heartfelt gratitude.

He was still afraid that Saul was going to come after him. All the time he'd been sneaking out of the apartment his hands had been trembling. At least he was _good_ at being quiet. Was just like creeping out of the house when Dad was home. He knew how to tread lightly, knew to muffle the sound of the door closing with his shirt sleeve, and even so with the memories in mind, he almost lost himself imagining the sound of footsteps behind him, the harsh breathing, the rough hands dragging him back, the hands that _touched_ and _held_ and _wouldn't let go..._

He'd bitten the back of his wrist fiercely, letting the pain keep him sharp and silent.

Problem was, he'd managed to escape alright, only now he didn't know where he was going.

Instinct – _need –_ told him to go to Danny's. To let himself take comfort in the fact that Danny liked him, as he had before...and look what had happened. Danny would welcome him, look after him, but Danny's parents would send him straight back to Dr Mayhew and he just...he didn't want that.

And more than that he didn't know that he should be inflicting himself on Danny. Wasn't just about what _he_ deserved, it was about what _Danny_ deserved. Danny was...Danny wasn't him. Danny was better than him. And whatever Danny said, his touch was poison and he'd drag Danny down into the mud just by being near him. And Danny wasn't supposed to spend time with him. Danny's Mom had looked at him in the hospital and he'd somehow felt even more filthy and insignificant, and if Danny hung around with him, they'd punish him too, maybe even send him to Dr Mayhew as well.

Unwillingly he imagined Danny in his place. Danny being used. Danny having to...or being forced to...and in an instant he was doubled over, his hands pressed hard against his mouth, his fingernails gouging into his face as the pressure of the scream inside him built to unbearable levels.

Better he died than he let that happen.

No, he couldn't go to Danny. He'd have to see Danny again, reassure Danny that he was alright, but after that...

He dropped down to the ground, kneeling slumped between a couple of dumpsters.

He could go back home. It had been a while at least. Maybe Dad wouldn't be so angry. Maybe everything would be normal and he'd just be slapped a couple of time and sent to his room. His room. He thought longingly of the faded carpet, the cracked wall, the space under the bed that was his, and that felt almost safe. There were clothes here that belonged to him and weren't so nice that he felt wrong in them, there was a shower he could use and food he could eat, as long as he was careful. And Dad might punish him when he was bad, but he'd never used him.

His stomach lurched alarmingly. Dad had never used him _before._ Things might be different now. After all, Mom had been there before and now she'd left and maybe that would change even more than he'd thought. After all, Mom was sick and dependent and Dad was stronger and smarter, and he used her and gave her food and medicine and alcohol. Really was there any difference? With Mom gone, maybe Dad would _want..._ would _expect..._

" _Men need a little help to relax now and then," Dr Mayhew crooned, his thumb brushing affectionately down Rusty's cheek. "It's a tough, thankless task looking after children like you. You're...stress relief. Do you know what that means?"_

_He shook his head dumbly._

" _Mmm," Dr Mayhew said thoughtfully, his thumb now gently rubbing over Rusty's lips. "All men have...frustrations...they need to work out. And you're useful for working out those frustrations. You do_ want _to be useful, don't you?"_

Dad always had frustrations. And, in a different way, hadn't Dad always used him to work them out? When things were going bad, or Dad was in a bad mood, Dad would knock him around more than usual, even if it wasn't directly his fault.

The image rose up in his mind, leaving him choked and nauseous. Dad, sitting on the sofa at home, his pants unbuttoned, a glass of vodka in his hand. Rusty kneeling between his legs, naked and shivering, his mouth open, and he could _see_ and he could _smell_ and he could _taste..._ no!

No. But he knew that if he went home and Dad _did_ expect that, he'd have to go along with it.

So he couldn't go home and he couldn't go to Danny's. He didn't really have any options. Anything else put him right back in the institute. And in the meantime, it was freezing and he was tired.

Mechanically he started rubbing at his arms and chest, and even his own hands on his body made him feel dirty.

Maybe he shouldn't have ran away from Saul's. At least he'd been warm there and there'd been a roof over his head.

He gritted his teeth; that was weakness. Just more things to lull him into a feeling of blissful gratitude. And no matter how... _nice_...everything had been, no matter what that look in Saul's eyes had meant, it was much better that he left before Saul came back.

The taxi ride had been difficult enough. Saul had surreptitiously laid a doughnut shaped cushion on the seat, murmuring that the doctors had said he should use it to sit on for at least a week. Rusty wasn't sure if it was meant to help or humiliate him. It had taken the pressure off and eased the pain, but it had left him vulnerable and ashamed. And then the apartment and the room Saul had shown him to, and he didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting. Somewhere he'd be out of the way. Somewhere without things he could break or ruin.

A filthy cell in the basement...was that really what he thought he deserved? He could imagine the look on Danny's face, could imagine – remember – Danny telling him that the way he was treated wasn't right. His head was spinning. _No one else agrees,_ he told Danny silently.

The room hadn't been a kindness anyway. Hadn't been about making him comfortable, it had been about ease of access. The large bed proved that, and Saul's soft order to get ready for bed.

There'd been a lock on the bathroom door and he'd stared at it for a long moment, ridiculously tempted to lock the door and never come out again. A kid's plan of course. What was he going to do next? He might be able to squeeze out the window, but they were on the fourth floor and he seriously doubted he'd be able to do any climbing in his current state. And if he jumped...he might die and that would be bad – it _would –_ but he might just break his legs or something, and that would be far worse.

Besides. If Saul realised Rusty had locked him out, there'd be bad trouble.

Instead he undressed and briskly started use the cold water to wash as much of him as he could. Anything Saul might want to touch or kiss or lick. It was his own fault he couldn't keep himself clean. They'd told him that his first week of school and Dr Mayhew had repeated the lesson. Not having any water or soap was no excuse. If he was good he'd be allowed those things, but he was bad and he made the adults who had to touch him dirty, and that meant he was even _more_ bad, and so he _really_ didn't deserve to get to wash. It only ended when he grew too disgusting to touch, as Dr Mayhew had told him in a disappointed sigh, and he'd given him to Stuart and James for punishment. But then he'd brought a bowl of lukewarm water and a bar of scented soap down with him the next time he came for Rusty, and he'd watched Rusty wash his hair and body, telling him to take his time, warning him when he'd missed a spot.

He'd been so thankful and grateful and happy to be forgiven that he hadn't even tried to pull away from the deep kiss that followed. Dr Mayhew had smiled at him and told him he was a good boy...

He smelled like flowers and it made him feel sick.

Point was, he was supposed to keep himself clean. And even if he'd already been planning on sneaking away, he didn't want to disappoint Saul let alone make him angry.

Briefly he'd considered using the hot water. Would make him a lot cleaner, after all, and just the luxury of it would make him feel better, and really, he didn't see how Saul would ever find out. Trouble with that was, if Saul did find out there'd be hell to pay. Just like with Dad when he'd found the bathroom full of steam. Hot water was expensive and wasting it was bad and far, far more importantly, it wasn't worth getting caught over. He had to pick his moments of defiance carefully.

Cold water and soap was fine, and he dried himself quickly, not wanting Saul to think he was trying to delay this.

On the other hand, there was toothpaste on the shelf and he put a tiny bit on his finger and scrubbed it over his teeth as best he could, but that had been the closest he'd come to getting to clean his teeth since he'd been taken downstairs, and it took a little of the filth in his mouth away. Worth it. Of course, if Saul kissed him, he'd realise that Rusty had stolen the toothpaste but he could at least _try_ to claim that he'd thought Saul had meant him to. 'Get ready for bed' was vague enough that most things could be reinterpreted at least a bit.

Most things.

Everything else done, he cast his eye around the bathroom, looking for anything he could use, checking out the shelf and everything around the bath. Shampoo, deodorant, aftershave...no. Shaving foam – he tried a pinch but it wasn't right. There was nothing suitable, he realised, with a sense of despair. Hell, was Saul actually setting him up to fail here? Maybe it was an excuse to punish him. Desperately he picked up a bar of soap. Nothing else for it, this would have to do.

Grimly he lathered up his fingers, and propping a foot up on the edge of the bath for balance, he carefully inserted a finger inside himself.

It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt. Whatever the doctors had given him earlier to numb him, it had long since worn off, leaving him as raw and tender as ever.

Don't be a baby, he told himself fiercely, working another finger inside and starting to stretch himself as best he could. As long as he did this now, it would hurt less later. Saul was being kind to make him do this. Saul had said, after all, that he wouldn't hurt him unless he had to.

The soap stung, he noted absently, and he figured it would get worse as it dried out. And weirdly he could feel something inside himself that hadn't been there before. Sort of like hard little lines, like wire or thread or something. He felt over them carefully – there had to be at least twenty, and there was a sharp ache beneath each one. Something left inside him. He bit his lip hard, trying to resist the urge to tear them out. Whatever they were, odds were good Saul knew they were there. Probably he'd even asked the doctors to put them there. So taking them out was a no no. At the moment, anyway. Besides. They seemed pretty firmly attached.

Leaving them alone he set about adding more soap. Problem was, he had no idea how big Saul was, or how he'd want Rusty. Better to be safe than sorry, and he added a third finger and then a fourth, clawing at his arm with his other hand to suppress the pain.

There. If he wasn't stretched enough now, there really was nothing he could do about it, and he washed the blood off his fingers. Whatever happened now, he'd just have to deal with it.

He looked at the pyjamas he'd left on the floor for a moment, unsure if he was actually supposed to put them on. He would have thought Saul would have wanted him naked. Except Saul had helped him cover up before...maybe he really did want Rusty to feel comfortable.

He laughed silently; some things really couldn't be done through clothes. Though other things could be, he considered, the thought sobering him rapidly. He shuddered.

At any rate, the clothes were there so he dressed quickly and headed back to the bedroom.

Saul wasn't waiting like he'd expected, and he stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do until Saul appeared from behind him and directed him to the bed.

He'd bent over slightly, waiting for directions, and Saul had told him that it wasn't going to hurt.

( _It always hurt. He knew that was his fault, knew that was because he was weak and bad, but it_ always _hurt._ )

He laid down like Saul told him to and waited, but instead, Saul had pulled the blankets over him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and offering more nonsensical promises before he left.

He actually left.

It made him uneasy and he'd lain completely still, uncomfortable and unsafe, certain that Saul would come back any minute. Like Stuart and James perhaps, who liked the shock and fear, or maybe more like Lucas who liked to pretend in the cold light of day that what they'd done the previous night had never happened.

But eventually he'd been certain that Saul wasn't waiting just outside the door and he'd seized the opportunity to sneak away before Saul did come back.

And now he had nowhere to go.

There was the sound of shouting and breaking glass somewhere nearby, and he huddled back further behind the dumpster, afraid of the rats but more afraid of people.

He had spent time on the streets before, of course. Just before he'd met Danny, when Mom had come at him with the knife. But that had been in the summer and it had only been for a few days. This would be forever, and already he couldn't feel his fingers. That was going to be a real problem when it came to getting money.

There was another option open to him, of course. He could try and charge men money or food to use him. Only problem with that was, if it was just him on his own, he couldn't see any reason why they wouldn't just take what they wanted.

And he could expect too the curious looks and the questions. He'd be a target for any do gooder who wanted to send him back.

Really, he'd be a target full stop.

It started to rain and he curled into a ball on his side, his head buried in his arms. Impossible to imagine that people wouldn't be able to tell what he was just by looking at him. And once they knew that, well. All men have frustrations and he made for good stress relief. And as long as it was just him, they could take what they wanted whether he was selling or not.

Almost enough to make him wish he was back in the basement. At least it had been warm and dry there, and sometimes, if he was good, Dr Mayhew could be kind.

* * *

Saul ran frantically through the streets, doubling back on himself, quartering the neighbourhood. Rusty couldn't have got far. He was on foot – he was _nine_ for God's sake.

But Saul had been searching for almost two hours now and if Rusty had kept moving...damnit, he didn't even know which direction Rusty had headed in.

Every time he saw someone he asked if they'd seen Rusty, describing him to the best of his ability, and each time he was met with a blank stare.

He was growing increasingly desperate. It was so cold tonight and Rusty didn't even have a sweater on, let alone a coat. How in God's name had he let this happen? How was he this stupid?

He should have been more careful. More vigilant. Hell, he should have been able to reassure Rusty that he was _safe_ now, that there was nothing to be afraid of. Apparently being alone in a house with Saul was more terrifying than braving the dark and the cold...he hadn't done _enough._

It started to rain and he cursed himself even more.

The problem was he didn't know where Rusty might be going. He didn't have a note of Rusty's old address – they'd gave him a file but that was blanked out, as if they were afraid he might go round there and cause trouble. ( _There were photographs of Rusty from the night he was brought in. Saul might just go round there and commit murder._ )

And he didn't know if Rusty would go there – it seemed an irrational, awful thought, but he knew what could happen when people felt trapped and out of options, and he couldn't imagine what was going on in Rusty's head. He wanted to be able to check. Even more he wanted to check if Rusty might have gone to Danny's. It seemed the most obvious sanctuary. He'd seen how impossibly close the two of them were. Rusty had seemed a hundred times calmer when Danny was there, holding his hand, and he didn't think Danny had stopped to think about anything else since...actually, he doubted Danny had stopped to think about anything else in five months.

But he didn't know where Danny lived and that was something he should have checked on too.

Soon he was going to have to go and call the police. Probably he should have called them the moment he realised Rusty was gone. More people searching...it should be a good thing. But it wasn't only the force of habit that kept him from getting the cops involved. Back in that hellhole of a basement, he'd been afraid that the cops would be too rough, would frighten a child too exhausted and traumatised to understand he wasn't the one in trouble here; and that fear hadn't gone anywhere. Rusty saw cops coming after him and he'd run, Saul was sure of that and he couldn't see how that would end well.

And the other part was, no one was going to give them another chance. He had to do the right thing and call the cops, that was the game. They'd take Rusty to that new institute, somewhere else in the state, and Rusty would be locked up and drugged up and he'd be just another statistic. Just another victim.

Maybe things had changed in the last few decades, but when Saul was a kid, the ones that got labelled, the ones that got taken away – they didn't get to come back.

Tonight, this was his problem. And nothing had ever been so important.

There was a guy standing on the street corner, holding a bottle in a brown paper bag. Drunk enough that the sensible thing to do was stay well away. Saul walked right up to him. "Good evening," he said, trying to sound as polite and non confrontational as he could. "Have you seen a kid around here? Nine years old, about this tall, thin and wearing a red shirt and jeans..."

For a long moment the guy just stared at him. "Yeah..." he said at last. "Yeah. I might have seen someone like that."

Might have. The money was in his hand in an instant. "Where?" he demanded urgently. "When?"

"Down that alley there," the guy nodded. "He was lying behind the dumpster. I kicked him a couple of times to see if he was alright and he took off running." He laughed. "More waddling than running, I guess."

Saul handed the money over. "When was this? Which way did he go?"

The guy shrugged. "Dunno. A while. And that way," he said, pointing down the alley and across the street."

"Thanks," Saul nodded, already up and running. Rusty had been seen. Rusty had been here and he could find him.

The sky grew lighter as he carried on searching, checking every doorway, every nook – anywhere a child might find to hide and sleep. There were more people around and he still stopped everyone he saw, being polite and persistent and asking the question. Most of the time he was met with a lot of nothing, but a couple of people pointed him onwards.

He wondered where Rusty was going. Had his encounter with the man earlier driven him further into flight? Saul didn't _know._ He didn't know what he was going to say to Rusty either. All that mattered was catching up with him.

When he did, the urge to run right over was almost irresistible. The sheer relief was overwhelming. Rusty was _safe._ But he didn't want Rusty to run again, he reminded himself, and he hung back and watched.

Rusty was standing in the shadows, scanning the street, almost like...Saul frowned.

A couple of women walked past apparently on their way to work, talking animatedly to each other and Rusty's gaze sharpened. He looked around himself and quickly stepped out behind them, silently trotting along a step behind and it was only because Saul was looking for it that he spotted the instant Rusty's hand dipped into the woman's purse and came out clutching a wallet.

Well. That was unexpected.


	6. Chapter 6

Without giving his marks another glance, without running or drawing attention to himself at all, Rusty veered off into an alley.

Saul followed, hurrying across the street, but by the time he got there the alley was empty apart from an abandoned wallet. Checking no one was around, he picked it up and flicked through it. Only the cash was missing.

He smiled for a second before telling himself sharply that the pride was absolutely inappropriate. The lift itself had been straightforward enough, it had been the way Rusty sized up his mark, the way he'd let so many people go by before he'd found the people who wouldn't notice, the way he'd immediately moved to lose the evidence.

Obviously he'd done this before. The smile faded.

He looked down the alley in time to see Rusty walking into a diner on the next street. Okay. Rusty was safe and that was the main thing, but now he needed to somehow persuade Rusty to come back. He didn't know what he could say that could be convincing. He had nothing.

When he walked inside the diner Rusty was being sneered at by the man behind the counter. "Look, _kid,_ it's no good you looking like that. I told you. You want something, you're going to have to ask for it."

Rusty was pointing at the menu behind the guy's head. There was a pile of cash on the counter and Rusty looked upset and frustrated. His hands were shaking, and his head was ducked, like he was unwilling or unable to look the guy in the eye.

Saul walked up behind him and stood a reasonable distance away but at the same time he was between Rusty and the door and he knew he'd be able to stop the child if he ran.

_Don't run,_ he begged silently, as Rusty tensed up, obviously aware someone was there.

He glanced at the menu where Rusty was pointing. "He'd like the pancake breakfast," he told the guy and Rusty looked up at him sharply, shock written all over his face. Saul affected not to notice. "That's right, isn't it?" he asked gently.

A long moment of silence and he could see the calculation being played, could see Rusty weighing up his options.

_I'm no threat to you,_ he pleaded. _I just want to help._ He could only pray Rusty understood.

At last, Rusty nodded shortly, swallowing hard, his hand gripping the edge of the counter and Saul was alarmed to see him sway.

He looked at the goosebumps on Rusty's arms. It was so cold out. "A hot chocolate too," he said. "Please."

"Sure thing," the guy said disinterestedly. "You paying or should I take this?" he gestured to the money on the counter and Saul was already automatically reaching for his wallet.

But somehow, Rusty had frozen, a flicker of absolute fear running across him, and Saul realised that for whatever reason, that would be a very, very bad idea. All his efforts were balanced on a knife edge, and if he made a wrong move, said the wrong thing, he'd lose Rusty forever.

"Take that," he said smoothly, and the guy picked up Rusty's money and turned away. "And get me an omelette and a coffee. Separate check."

"Sure thing," the guy said again and he took Saul's money too.

"Let's go get a seat," Saul suggested quietly, nodding towards the back of the diner. "We got things we need to discuss."

He found them a booth and Rusty stood awkwardly, staring at the table. Saul wasn't sure if he was considering running or if he just wasn't willing to sit down without permission. Both, maybe.

"Sit," he said, as gently as he could. "Please."

Without looking at him, Rusty slid down onto the seat, his legs curled under him.

"Sorry," Saul said with a sigh. "If I'd thought, I would have brought the cushion."

Rusty's eyes darted across the room, lingering on the few people uncomfortably.

Saul took a deep breath. He had to do this and he had to do this _right._ This wasn't just about cold reading, he had to _understand._ He nodded sympathetically. "I suppose it would be embarrassing," he agreed softly. "But it was more comfortable for you, wasn't it?"

He almost smiled as Rusty looked up at him sharply, wonderingly. He'd guessed right. He waited expectantly and Rusty nodded slowly.

"The doctor said you should use it for at least a week," he told Rusty. "Until the stitches come out."

He was watching every expression carefully, and that was the only reason he caught the momentary frown.

Right. They hadn't thought Rusty understood what was going on. They hadn't _told_ Rusty what was going on. His lips were set in a thin line of disapproval, and Rusty hunched over fearfully, as though he was waiting for retribution.

"I'm not angry with you," he said quickly, afraid that Rusty might bolt. "I - "

The food arrived, the guy practically dropping it onto the table, not even looking at either of them, and still Saul saw the way Rusty moved away, like he thought the guy might reach out and grab him any second.

"Hey," he said softly, as the guy walked off without a backward glance. "It's okay, Rusty. You're safe." He hesitated. "Do you believe me?"

A long moment and then Rusty nodded eagerly, not looking up.

Saul sighed. Obviously Rusty was offering exactly what he thought Saul wanted to hear. And that told him exactly how safe Rusty felt. "I would never let him hurt you," he said. He took a deep breath. "I wasn't angry with you. I was just...annoyed...that the doctors didn't tell you everything. You have a right to know what's happening with your body."

Rusty looked up at him, staring like he was speaking a foreign language, and then as if he suddenly realised what he was doing, quickly looked away.

If it didn't hurt so much, Saul might have laughed.

"Eat your breakfast," he instructed. "Then we'll talk."

He stayed silent while Rusty ate, not wanting to interrupt when it was obvious the child needed all the nourishment he could get. He was so thin that it was frightening, and he hunched over his plate, guarding it like he expected Saul to take it away any moment. Table manners were a discussion for some far future time. Right now, he just wanted Rusty to eat, and he was unhappy when Rusty stopped when he'd barely eaten half of the pancakes.

Saul ate more leisurely, but he put down his knife and fork when Rusty did. "Better?" he asked, smiling slightly, leaning back and trying to project a non threatening air.

Rusty nodded fractionally.

"Drink your hot chocolate too," Saul urged. "You still look cold."

Rusty didn't drink immediately, but his hands were wrapped around the mug, apparently warming himself.

Saul nodded. "So I guess we should talk about why you left."

Flinching imperceptibly, Rusty glanced quickly towards the door.

"Don't run," Saul said quickly. "Please don't run. Right now, I just want to talk, okay?" He paused for a long second, trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say. He was only going to get one chance at this. "I'm sorry," he began softly. "That I made you feel like you had to run."

Rusty wasn't looking at him but he could see the flicker of confusion and curiosity.

"You thought I was going to hurt you last night," he stated, and Rusty shook his head slowly, and he was giving Saul what he wanted to hear again. "Yes you did," he said quickly. "I know you did and I _understand._ I don't want to hurt you, Rusty. I will never want to hurt you, but I know that you've been hurt before." He took a deep breath. "I'm offering you somewhere safe, that's all. I told you – hot food, a warm bed...anything you want. Anything you need. And no one is going to hurt you or...or _force_ you, or touch you in any way that makes you uncomfortable."

Really, this was nothing he hadn't said before. He sighed. "Rusty...what do you think is going to happen if you keep running? Even if you can get money, If you're living on the streets, it's cold, it's hard and there are people who will hurt you. Do you really think you can live like that?"

The head shake was minute, but it was weary and defeated and it made Saul's heart ache. He didn't want to win like this.

"And the police will be looking for you," he went on. "If you leave, I'll _have_ to tell them and they'd need to find you to take you back some place safe."

Oddly, he much preferred the little motion of defiance, the stubborn set of Rusty's jaw. These little hints that the child wasn't completely broken were really all he had to go on.

"Listen to me," he said intently. "It is not a question of whether you can survive on your own, it's a question of what you _deserve._ " He saw the shudder and winced, pressing on quickly. "And you deserve to be happy, safe and looked after by someone who cares for you, just like all children."

Rusty's head was turned to one side, listening thoughtfully, and encouraged, Saul smiled at him. "Come back with me," he pleaded. "Please, Rusty."

Very, very slowly, Rusty nodded, and Saul felt his heart sing.

* * *

Saul was right. He couldn't hope to make it on his own. He'd got lucky lifting the money, and even that hadn't been enough to get him food. If Saul hadn't found him, he'd still be trying to persuade the man in the diner to take his order. And it was so cold outside, and even in the brief time he'd tried sleeping, he'd been found and kicked and if he hadn't managed to get away...

Saul was right. Dr Mayhew was right. He couldn't take care of himself, and that left him nothing but a burden, a filthy parasite feeding off normal, decent people.

And Saul was giving him a second chance. He should be grateful, but all he could think was how to get away with repaying as little as possible. He had to go back with Saul, that was a given, but maybe, just maybe, if he refused the more obvious privileges, maybe Saul wouldn't use him too much.

After all, Saul had repeatedly said that he didn't want to hurt him unless it was necessary, and he'd said that he wouldn't let anyone else force him, or touch him, so maybe he wasn't planning on sharing him round again. He just had to be good and avoid taking anything he didn't deserve, that was all. Oh, if Saul wanted him, he'd be obedient, but other than that...he wasn't gonna give him the excuse.

Apart from anything else, they'd said at the hospital that this was only for a few days. And Rusty strongly suspected that whatever was going on with Dr Mayhew would be sorted out by then and he'd be sent back and when that happened, he didn't want Saul to be able to tell Dr Mayhew he'd been bad or ungrateful.

Although he supposed Saul _had_ beaten up Dr Mayhew. Might be that Dr Mayhew would prefer it if Saul found him defiant and unruly. Loyalty, or whatever. He shivered.

This was too complicated. He bit his lip hard. Alright. When he was sent back to Dr Mayhew, punishment was inevitable. For causing all this fuss, if nothing else. Same if he was sent on to another new institute. He wasn't going to be able to get out of it no matter what, so in the meantime he should just try and avoid...he should just try and avoid everything.

He followed Saul out of the diner, slipping a piece of pancake into his pocket while Saul's back was turned, managing to quickly wipe away the stickiness from his hands with a wad of napkins. The jeans wouldn't be so easy to clean, but having food saved for later made that a worthwhile risk.

Saul flagged down a taxi as they stepped outside, and for a moment, remembering how much the taxi had cost _last_ night, he really did think about running again. Oh, this wasn't fair. He couldn't even try to refuse...except it was his own fault for running. This was just something else he owed Saul for tracking him down, and he already knew he couldn't get away from _that._

Running still seemed so tempting though.

He climbed on the back seat awkwardly, and the driver was staring at him disapprovingly in the mirror, his eyes seeming to linger on the bruises on his face. Rusty looked away quickly, forcing himself to be fascinated by the pattern of mud splattered up his shoelaces.

"Just drive," Saul said, sounding almost curt as he gave the driver the address.

Took longer than he'd expected – he must have wandered further than he'd thought. Not like he knew this part of town too well.

"We'll talk more when we get in," Saul told him quietly, and he wondered if that would be when Saul would punish him. He wondered _how_ Saul would punish him...wasn't like the apartment had a basement. Maybe Saul would just beat him...punishment probably counted as necessary hurting after all. Though there were lots of things that Saul could do that wouldn't actually involve hurting him and would still be so much worse. He shivered.

"But first we'll need to get you warmed up," Saul said, and he could feel the look on the side of his face.

He didn't look round. Wasn't the cold that was making him him shiver. Wasn't _just_ the cold, anyway, he really was chilled to the bone, but that was beside the point.

Just go through with this, he told himself. There's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And he knew where open defiance would lead. This was his best and only option.

Least he thought so until he followed Saul up the stairs and saw Danny sitting on the doorstep, staring blankly into space.

For a second, Rusty froze. Danny looked...lost. Like the world had stopped making sense. Like someone had _died._

Danny had come looking for him and he hadn't been here. Wasn't only Saul he'd run away from, and he hadn't even stopped to think for a second...

The words of apology and promise were frozen in his throat and he cursed himself.

Helpless to do anything else, he slipped past Saul and painfully crouched down in front of Danny.

"Rus'?" Danny whispered hoarsely, dashing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

He couldn't touch. He couldn't talk. He could barely bear to meet Danny's eyes, but he was _sorry_ and he needed Danny to know that.

Danny nodded unsteadily a couple of times, swallowing hard, obviously fighting for control. "I...you said first thing!" he said, staring past Rusty towards Saul, anger and accusation making his voice crack. "I've been...I waited."

Waited. And Danny had said that he'd been looking for Rusty all the time he'd been gone.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Saul said regretfully, and Rusty frowned because the apology sounded genuine. "I should have realised you'd be worried." And that sounded like Saul meant it, like Saul hadn't wanted to upset Danny, and didn't that make some kind of difference?

And it wasn't even Saul's fault... He gently touched the ground beside Danny's hand, drawing Danny's attention in an instant, and with his eyes, he tried to tell Danny that it was all his fault.

Danny frowned. "You ran?" he whispered.

He nodded quickly.

Danny bit his lip. "Did he - "

He shook his head after barely a fraction of a second. After all, Saul _hadn't._

But Danny didn't look convinced and when he looked at Saul his gaze was sharp and mistrustful, and how could Rusty possibly hope to convince Danny that it was okay for Saul to use him? There was no way. Danny's worldview wouldn't allow it, and there were days when Rusty thought that the world might just change to make him happy. But not today.

Nevertheless, he shrugged and tried to promise that it was all fine, and that just made Danny stare at Saul a little bit harder.

Saul didn't seem to notice, thankfully. Because the last thing Rusty wanted was for Saul to get mad at Danny.

"Let's get inside," Saul suggested, key in hand, and he must have been waiting for them to finish.

They stood up quickly and moved aside, and Danny carefully kept himself between Rusty and Saul as they walked in.

"I'm going to run a bath for you," Saul told him, looking at him unhappily. "You still look half frozen. In the meantime, take a seat and try and get warmed up. Both of you, help yourself to anything in the fridge or the cupboards."

"You sure he didn't hurt you?" Danny asked, once Saul had vanished into the bathroom and they could hear the water running. "He didn't..." Danny hesitated, and Rusty realised that Danny wasn't altogether sure of the words.

He shook his head anyway.

"But you think he might," Danny stated.

Wasn't exactly a question of 'might'. He shrugged.

Danny bit his lip. "What do you want to do?"

Really, there wasn't anything he could do. He shrugged again.

Danny sighed. "Well - "

The bathroom door opened and Saul emerged. "The bath's all ready for you, Rusty. Get warm and get clean, okay? I'll have a hot drink waiting for you when you're done."

He glanced anxiously at Danny, but Danny was watching Saul, a tiny, thoughtful frown apparent. "Go on, Rus'" he said quietly, throwing him a brief, reassuring smile. "I'll be fine."

Danny sounded certain, and he didn't exactly think that Saul was likely to do anything to Danny. But he still kept watching until the bathroom door was closed.

The bath was full of bubbles and hot water. He closed his eyes. So this was how it started. Things he didn't deserve and couldn't refuse. Saul had told him to get clean, and that wasn't just for his benefit, so refusing would be worse than being ungrateful. And even if he poured the water out and used cold, Saul would have no way of knowing that.

The warmth didn't come close to reaching the ice inside.


	7. Chapter 7

Danny waited until the door was firmly closed before he turned to look at Saul. He'd seen the look on Saul's face when he came out the bathroom. It had looked like genuine concern. Looked like there was nothing there but worry for Rusty, and certainly Saul hadn't even attempted to go and catch a glimpse of Rusty naked. But Danny's simple impressions weren't good enough to be certain. Not with so much at stake.

"Take a seat, Danny," Saul offered. "Can I - "

" - I'd rather stand right now," he interrupted rudely.

"Okay." Saul frowned, looking at him and it was obvious he was expecting something. Some kind of interrogation, and that just meant he had to be all the more careful. Saul was prepared. He had to catch him by surprise.

"Do you want to fuck him?" he asked conversationally, his eyes trained on Saul's face.

" _What?_ No!" Saul said immediately.

Danny nodded. The denial seemed genuine. But denial was easy and genuine only a little more difficult, and he'd _seen_ Saul lie. No, he needed more than this. He had to force Saul to live it."

"Do you want to fuck him?" he reported in a low voice, praying Rusty didn't hear. "Do you want to hold him down, tear his clothes off, force him over that sofa there and shove your cock up his ass?"

The words tasted foul in his mouth. He'd heard them at school; whispered conversations at recess about exactly what fags and perverts would do if they caught you. Enough to paint a picture too horrific for him to look at.

Saul's face was white and he looked sick to the stomach, like what Danny had made him imagine physically hurt him. "I would _never,_ " he said in a fierce whisper.

Danny exhaled heavily, feeling more than a little sick himself. "Okay. I'm sorry. I had to be sure." He sat down quickly on the sofa, and Saul took a seat on the easy chair opposite him. " _He_ thinks you will," Danny said quietly.

Didn't seem like this was news to Saul. "I've been trying to reassure him," he said heavily. "I'm not sure how well it's working."

Yeah. Danny thought about everything he'd spent the last two years trying to convince Rusty of. Some things were deeply engrained. "He expects people to hurt him," he told Saul uncomfortably, studying the backs of his hands. "He's had it all his life. That's not going to go away overnight." Saul looked at him sharply and he bit his lip. He _hated_ breaking Rusty's confidences, no matter how often he did it. Oh, Rusty had long ago told him he didn't expect Danny to stop, and nothing ever came of it _anyway,_ but it still felt like betrayal.

Saul nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, standing up and looking at Danny keenly. "Would you like something to drink? I think I saw some hot chocolate at the back of the cupboard. Rusty seemed to like it earlier."

"Yeah," Danny said with a slight smile as Saul headed towards the kitchen. "He really does."

"I rent this place a month and I get a cupboard full of dried goods," Saul called through from the kitchen. "Can't decide whether it's a nice gesture or something the last people leave behind."

The smile faded and Danny sat staring blankly at the wall until Saul came back, balancing two mugs of hot chocolate, a coffee and a plate of cookies.

"You're only staying a month?" he asked quietly.

Saul hesitated. "I'm staying until I've found Rusty somewhere to stay," he said at last. "Somewhere he's safe and happy."

He couldn't ask for any more than that. It was unreasonable for him to ask for any more than that. He just wasn't so sure he believed it. Somewhere safe and happy...he wasn't that naïve. Not anymore. "Saul..." He closed his eyes for a second. "I should say thank you. For everything you've done."

"Danny...it's not..." Saul shook his head. "I couldn't just walk away from you."

"Don't make it sound like it's something anyone would have done," Danny warned. "You stopped and asked what was wrong and you _did_ something about it. Do you have any idea how many people..." He broke off hurriedly, aware of the crack in his voice. He didn't have to say anything else anyway. No one had listened. Except Saul. And that did mean something, that would always mean something.

Saul looked at him for a moment. "How was your Mom last night?" he asked quietly.

Somehow the lie died on his lips. "Angry," he admitted, swallowing hard. "She kept asking me to tell her everything that happened. I didn't want to, but she insisted, and she's going to hear it all at the police interview today anyway, right? Figured it would be better if she wasn't screaming at me as well."

"The cops just want the truth," Saul told him. "There won't be any screaming. And your mother should not be angry with you for this." There was just the tiniest hint of an edge to Saul's voice. Like maybe _he_ was angry with Mom on Danny's behalf. And even though he should hate it, a tiny part of Danny liked it, just a little.

"That stuff you said last night helped," he volunteered.

"I just told the truth, Danny," Saul said gently.

"But you lie a lot," Danny said, before he could consider whether or not it was wise.

Saul sighed. "Believe me, I'm starting to realise just what a bad role model I am," he muttered. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Danny...if you ever want to talk, I'm here. I'll gladly listen."

Mom hadn't wanted to talk. Mom had wanted _him_ to listen. And Dad wasn't around and didn't know, and he'd told Julia that he had nothing _to_ talk about...but it was eating away at him inside. And Saul sounded so sincere. He quickly looked away.

The door opened slowly and Rusty walked into the room, his hair still damp but clean, and that only made the cuts and bruises that much more noticeable.

"You warmed up?" Saul asked solicitously.

Rusty nodded briefly, looking between them anxiously, and there was a question in his eyes when he looked at Danny.

"I'm fine," Danny promised. "Come sit down, will you?"

Silently, Saul placed a doughnut-shaped cushion on the sofa next to Danny. Rusty glanced at it and then at Danny, his chin raised slightly, as if he was daring Danny to laugh.

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Why would I?" he asked softly, and thinking about how Rusty had been hurt inside killed him.

Rusty sighed and it almost sounded like a bitter laugh, but he sat down on the cushion, beside Danny, and it felt reassuring to have Rusty so close, even if Rusty was silently telling him not to come any closer. As long as Rusty was _here,_ Danny couldn't lose him again.

"I made you a hot chocolate," Saul said, gesturing at the coffee table. "And help yourself to cookies."

Quickly, Rusty shook his head, and Danny frowned, because there was something else behind that, something he didn't quite understand, but Rusty glanced sideways at him, asking a silent question.

He grimaced. "Mom's picking me up two," he reported unhappily. "The police need to interview me. Apparently it could take a few hours. I don't know if I'll be able to come back afterwards." And that was partly a question for Mom, and partly a question for Saul.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're always welcome," Saul said firmly. "As long as that's okay with Rusty?"

Rusty nodded fervently, and Danny smiled, a little relieved in spite of himself. Rusty wasn't pushing him away completely at least.

"Want to watch some TV?" he suggested, because Rusty looked exhausted, leaning back on the sofa drowsily, his eyes half closed, and Danny figured something relaxing was best. Belatedly, he glanced at Saul. "If that's okay, that is."

Saul nodded, looking worriedly at Rusty, and he passed Danny the remote. "Find something you like," he suggested.

"Thanks," he said, and again he meant for much more than the TV.

( _Maybe this could be safe and happy.)_

* * *

 

They watched TV for the rest of the morning. Cartoons and some nature documentary, and Saul watched Rusty lightly doze while the soothing English accent told them all about zebra migrations. He had a feeling that Rusty was only this relaxed because Danny was there, watching over him. Certainly any time _he_ moved, even a fraction Rusty was wide awake, scared and tense, and waiting for an attack.

He thought about what Danny had said, that Rusty expected to be hurt. Nothing that he hadn't already guessed at, but that didn't mean it wasn't still painful to contemplate. Had _no one_ ever done right by the child? The sooner Saul found him a new home the better. He'd had a little time now to think about what was needed. A couple, obviously. Older, maybe. Patient and compassionate, with lots of experience caring for children. People who were able to provide Rusty with the love and attention he so desperately needed.

In the meantime, Saul was going to do his absolute best.

Rusty hadn't so much as looked at the chocolate or the cookies. And that was understandable. Saul would guess Rusty had eaten more in the last twelve hours than he had in the past week. He'd have to work on getting Rusty used to proper, regular meals again, and he groaned inwardly at the thought. Someone able to cook, he added to his mental list of necessary qualities. Proper home cooked meals. God, the more he thought, the more he came up with reasons why he was completely inadequate for this. Well, unfortunately, sandwiches and convenience foods would need to do for the moment.

Speaking of shopping...He pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn't want to do this, but he couldn't exactly see what choice he had. "I need to go to the store across the street for a bit," he told the boys quietly. "I'm sorry. I will be as quick as I can, but do you think you'll be okay for twenty minutes or so?"

If anything, Rusty looked relieved. That didn't make Saul feel any better.

"Okay," Danny said quietly. "We'll stay right here."

"Do you promise?" he asked, looking straight at Rusty.

Rusty nodded fractionally. Seemed like he understood the logic behind the question, and Saul thought he could trust him not to run again. "Alright then," he said satisfied. "I'm going to get some food to last us the next few days. Is there anything in particular you like, Rusty?"

He addressed the question to Rusty, but he was expecting Danny to answer.

He wasn't disappointed. "Burgers...anything with fries...chocolate milkshake," Danny listed and Rusty frowned at him fiercely. Danny blinked. "He asked," he pointed out, and Rusty nodded unhappily.

"I just want to get food you'll like," Saul told him quietly.

For a moment Rusty looked as though eating his favourite foods would be the worst thing in the world.

"Is there anything you'd rather eat?" Saul asked, and Rusty shook his head quickly. He sighed. "Okay, I'll be back soon. Goodbye."

"Bye, Saul," Danny said.

He hurried out of the apartment and across the street to the department store. Right. He had to do this as fast as possible. He found a brightly coloured toothbrush, a comb and some soaps and shampoos that were marked especially for children. He had no idea what the difference was but he got them anyway. Next he headed round to the kids clothing section and picked up some jeans and casual pants, a coat and a variety of t-shirts, sweaters and underwear. Fortunately they seemed to sorted by ages, but he got some things that were smaller sizes anyway. Rusty wasn't exactly a healthy weight for a nine year old after all. He picked out a variety of colours and styles as well. Hopefully this way Rusty would wind up with at least a few things that he liked and were the right size.

Of course this would be much easier if he'd taken Rusty with him, but he didn't think that Rusty was up to leaving the apartment again today, and he had a feeling that if Rusty knew he was being bought clothing there'd be trouble. And he was appreciative of that – he wanted Rusty to be comfortable after all – but the simple fact was Rusty needed clothes.

He picked out some shoes as well. Fortunately he'd got a good look when he was tying Rusty's laces last night, so he was reasonably certain of the size and he managed to find a pair with velcro fastenings. That should be easier for Rusty to manage with his hand. Damn...he made a note to tell Rusty about his hand when he explained about the stitches. The child needed to know it might be fixable, after all.

Lastly, he headed to the food hall and picked up enough stuff to last them a few days. Nothing he couldn't just heat up, but things that would hopefully be nourishing and appealing to the boys. Burgers and sausages, french fries and pizza. And a large carton of chocolate milk.

He looked at his watch as he left with the shopping bags. Forty minutes. That wasn't too bad, although he still felt guilty as hell. He was well aware that leaving children unattended was wrong. Just that the alternative could be worse.

Danny frantically shushed him the moment he stepped in the door, and when he looked, Rusty was curled up asleep on the edge of the sofa. He looked peaceful.

"He didn't get a chance to sleep last night," Saul whispered.

Danny nodded, his hand resting lightly on Rusty's foot.

"I'm just going to put these things away," Saul said, indicating the bags, and he put the groceries in the kitchen and carefully put the clothes away in Rusty's room. He found a spare blanket on the shelf in the wardrobe and after a second's thought, took it through to the living room.

"You bought him new clothes?" Danny asked softly.

"Yeah," Saul nodded, carefully draping a blanket over Rusty's sleeping form. "He needed them."

"Huh." Danny looked at him wonderingly.

It bothered Saul how Danny regarded his every...not _kindness,_ that wasn't the right word. It wasn't even a question of kindness, it was just about basic acts of duty and common human decency, but it seemed to be surprising and remarkable as far as Danny was concerned. And Saul knew as well as anyone that the world could be cruel and dirty and unfair, but it could be wonderful too, and at twelve that's what Danny should _expect._

He hadn't liked the way Danny's mother talked to him, or the way Danny seemed afraid of her. That was something he had to keep an eye on.

Rusty seemed to be sound asleep. Saul regarded him for a moment. "I won't wake him for lunch," he decided at last. The child needed sleep. "I'll get him something when he wakes up. But do you want a sandwich or something now, Danny?"

"Yes, please," Danny said politely.

"Roast beef okay?" he checked and Danny nodded.

A couple of rounds of sandwiches later and they sat watching some sit com about a man and his dog, talking easily in low voices. Really, the more he talked to Danny, the more he liked the kid. He was smart, quick thinking, loyal – all the qualities Saul most admired, and in truth, he enjoyed spending time with him.

The doorbell rang at about quarter past two and Rusty sat bolt upright, looking around fearfully as the blanket fell of him.

"It's just the doorbell," Danny told him gently, reaching across and taking Rusty's hand, and Rusty pulled away immediately.

"Your mother, I assume," Saul said to Danny, standing up to get the door.

It was, and shortly after Danny's mother stood in the living room, looking around thoughtfully and Saul was glad he'd chosen this place with making an impression in mind. She certainly _looked_ impressed.

"Thank you for looking after Daniel," she said stiffly.

He inclined his head. "It really was no trouble. As I told...Daniel...he's welcome here any time."

"I see..." She glanced over to where Danny and Rusty were standing. "Daniel, we really must be going. Robert..." She hesitated for a long second and Saul tensed, ready to shut her down if she said _anything_ inappropriate, if she even looked at him wrong. "I hope you feel better soon," was all she said in the end though.

Danny turned to Rusty. "I'll see you soon, 'kay? I'll come back this evening. Just try to get some rest."


	9. Chapter 9

Danny walked down the steps, carefully not looking back at the police station or up at Mom. He wasn't so sure he'd be able to keep control if he did. That had been harrowing. Oh, the cops had all been nice enough – they'd been gentle asking their questions, and they'd listened to him, but he'd had to relive all of it. Right from the night of blood and silence and werewolves, through the months of waiting, to Saul and the mayor taking him to the institute and finding Rusty. Saul had said the police would need to know as much as possible so he shared every detail, even the ones that had him howling inside. He managed to keep his voice steady – he was sure he did – so he didn't know why the cops insisted on giving him so many breaks.

Mom was sat beside him all the time, and he wished she wasn't. He didn't have to look at her to feel the disgust and the horror and the fervent desire to keep as far away from the whole situation as possible. She was angry with him, and darkly he wondered if she'd prefer it if he'd never found Rusty, if Rusty was still in that hellhole, out of sight and out of mind.

"Well, thank God that's over," Mom said loudly as they trudged towards the car. "Now that they have your statement, hopefully that will be an end to it."

He nodded. Sometimes he could see the attraction of silence.

"Are you alright, Daniel?" she asked, laying a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off immediately. "I'm fine," he said shortly.

She took him at his word. And he wasfine like he kept saying, why would he be anything butfine, and still he wished she hadn't accepted it so easily.

"Can you drop me at Saul's?" he asked.

For a moment she didn't say anything. "I think perhaps we'd be better going straight home," she said at last. "We need to go and see your grandmother tonight - "

" - since when?" he interrupted. Mom never took him to see grandmother without Dad being there, and normally the visits were planned at least a week in advance.

"Don't interrupt, Daniel," she scolded. "We need to see your grandmother so _you_ need to go home and get changed. And for pity's sake, don't you _dare_ mention any of this to her. If she knew what you've been mixed up in..." She left the threat hanging.

"I need to see Rusty," he said quietly. "Please, Mom."

"You just saw him this morning," she pointed out. " _Against_ my wishes. Do you really think anything's going to have happened to him? He's fine, he's in good hands. Where he should be."

"That's what you said five months ago," he pointed out softly. "I need to see him."

"You said he won't even talk to you," she said, pulling the car in to the side of the road. "What's the _point?_ "

He winced but kept his voice steady. "He can still hear me," he said. "Mom, _please._ "

She sighed. "I don't want you spending time with that boy," she warned. "He was bad enough already, but after this?" Her mouth twisted. "God knows what you might pick up."

With an effort, he swallowed back the unhelpful response. "Saul will be right there," he reminded her. "You liked Saul. And he thinks Rusty's okay."

That was a lie. Saul didn't think Rusty was anywhere close to okay. But there was two types of people in Mom's world those who were healthy prosperous and connected, and those who were dangerous and undesirable.

"That's Mr Bergman to you," Daniel," she told him absently. "And I _would_ like to talk to him...alright. Just for a few minutes."

He smiled at her. "Thank you, Mom," he said with something almost approaching warmth.

Didn't seem as though anything had changed when they got there. Rusty was curled on the couch, the TV playing, and when Danny came in he looked up fearfully, an urgent question in his eyes.

"Are you alright? How did it go?"

He blinked, shaken for a second by the sound of the same anxiety in Saul's voice.

"It was fine," he said. "They just asked me questions, that's all."

Saul didn't look entirely convinced and Danny supposed that he had seen the same thing and maybe he had some idea how awful having to talk about it really was. But there was another fear in Rusty's eyes and he sat down beside him on the sofa, while Mom drew Saul away, talking in a low voice.

"No one hurt me," he told Rusty in a low voice. "I promise."

He bit his lip, reading the next question. "No one did... _that..._ either," he said. "No one even tried."

Relieved, Rusty nodded slowly.

"Rus'..." he said softly. "When someone does that to you they _are_ hurting you. And they know it. They don't have a right to touch you like that. No one does. I don't know what that bastard told you, but he was lying. When someone asks if you were hurt, they mean that too." He hesitated for a second but plunged on. "When Saul says he's not going to hurt you, he means he's not going to do that as well."

An almost sad shake of the head.

"You think I'm wrong?" Danny asked. "You think I'm naïve?"

Reluctantly, Rusty nodded.

"And anyone else could be lying," he said slowly.

_Would_ be lying, Rusty's expression silently corrected him.

He bit his lip. He couldn't see how to convince Rusty that he was safe when he couldn't even figure out how to convince Rusty he'd been hurt. And he _didn't_ know exactly what Rusty had been told, and even if Rusty was inclined to tell him, he _couldn't._

Truth was all he could hope was that with time and patience, Rusty would be able to come to terms with what had happened. And the trouble with that was that time wasn't on their side. Saul might be happy to let Danny come over, might be patient and understanding and kind and all the rest of it, but Danny had absolutely no confidence that anyone else would act the same way. He dreaded losing Rusty again, more than anything, and he could see it coming regardless.

Rusty was looking at him anxiously. He managed to force a smile. So what was he going to do – give up? "Somehow I'll get us both through this," he told Rusty softly. "I promise."

"We need to leave now, Daniel," Mom said, walking over with Saul a step behind. "Say goodbye to Robert and thank Mr Bergman for his his hospitality."

"Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?" Saul asked, sounding hopeful.

Mom hesitated for a second. Still charmed then. "Quite sure," she said though. "I need to take Daniel to visit his grandmother." She looked at Saul intently. "Now you will think about what I said."

"Of course," Saul said with a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. Evidently whatever Mom had said Saul wasn't happy about it.

"Now, Daniel," Mom said warningly.

For a moment he considered begging. Not as if dignity made a difference. Hell if there was a chance it would let him stay with Rusty he'd happily throw a tantrum like a two year old. But he could see in Mom's eyes that it didn't matter _what_ he did, she was determined to take him out of here.

He took a step towards Rusty and Rusty shook his head fractionally. No contact. Right. "Goodnight, Rus'," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow," he added in a whisper so that no one else could hear. He didn't know how, but he'd be here tomorrow.

He turned to Saul. "Thanks for having me, Saul," he said politely like he'd been taught.

"That's Mr Bergman to you, Daniel," Mom broke in, scandalised.

"I prefer Saul," Saul said hastily. "Mr Bergman just makes me feel old."

Mom pursed her lips. "An important part of raising a child is to instill respect for their elders and betters," she said stiffly.

Danny managed to catch Saul's eye, begging him not to argue. Arguing would only make it worse, he knew. "Thank you, Mr Bergman," he said formally, and Mom looked at him approvingly.

"There," she declared. "Good manners cost nothing."

Maybe a little self respect every now and then.

He followed Mom towards the door, taking a long look at Rusty as he did. Rusty looked so vulnerable.

He wished he didn't have to leave.

* * *

The door closed behind Danny and his mother and Saul took a deep breath, trying to lose some of the feelings of anger and outrage.

Mrs Ocean had taken him aside and told him that he should be very careful of Rusty...or Robert, as she insisted on calling him. She'd made a point of telling him that he'd always been disturbed, and after hearing what Danny said, she thought that he was probably dangerous. And she hadn't said it in so many words, but it was obvious she thought that Rusty wasn't worth the trouble.

He was nine. He just needed a chance.

And Saul had seen the expression of distaste and suspicion in her eyes, and he hadn't been able to even tell her where to get off. If he made trouble then inevitably she would make certain that Danny wasn't able to spend time here. In order to do what was best for Rusty, he couldn't defend Rusty. And yes, he could see how that would bother anyone, but it felt like it bothered him even more than he'd expect. He gave a rueful smile. In the circumstances it was probably inevitable that he'd get attached to the child.

He looked over to Rusty who was carefully not looking at him. No. Not completely not looking at him. He was focused on Saul's hands. Watching for any sudden movement, he guessed. Damnit. Rusty had seen his anger and was anticipating what happened next.

He had to try and fix this.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That Danny had to leave."

The unexpected conversation gambit had Rusty blinking at him, brow furrowed.

"I imagine he'll be back tomorrow," he went on. "Somehow I doubt he'll find it easy to stay away."

Rusty nodded tersely.

Saul wavered, torn between the desire to explain that it was Danny's mother who had angered him, that it was nothing to worry about, and his urge to make sure that Rusty didn't have even a hint of the things she'd said.

"Do you want to have a lie down before dinner?" he suggested. "Or do you want to watch more TV?"

Rusty nodded at the first one, his eyes flickering towards the door.

Saul figured it was less about Rusty wanting to rest so much as Rusty wanting to get away from him for a while. The pressure of always being on edge and alert must be exhausting.

"I'll come get you when dinner is ready," he told Rusty, and Rusty nodded quickly and hurried out of the room.

Alone, Saul glanced at the plate of Oreos. There had been eighteen on the plate. He'd eaten one. There were fourteen there now.

Alright. He sighed deeply. At least Rusty was eating. He just wasn't willing to let Saul _see_ he was eating. And that was one more thing Saul really didn't know what to do about.

He rubbed his eyes and sat considering how out of his depth he was right now.

At some point he dozed off and only woke up with a start a couple of hours later. He'd been so tired...it wasn't as if he'd got any sleep last night either, but that was no excuse.

Standing up, he headed hastily towards Rusty's room, frightened that Rusty might have ran away again.

He knocked gently on the door and waited a moment before pushing it open. Rusty was sitting on the window ledge, gazing out of the window.

He smiled as Rusty looked round, ignoring the tension and the fear. Really, he needed to get more for the child to do. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently.

Rusty shrugged slightly in reply.

"Would you like some dinner?" he suggested, and he wasn't surprised when Rusty shook his head emphatically. "You need to eat," he pressed. "Why don't I make something anyway and we'll see if you feel hungry?"

Rusty shook his head again stubbornly, but he didn't seem like he was expecting Saul to listen. In this instance, he wasn't going to. Saul was going to make sure that food was available for Rusty, whether Rusty was going to eat it or not. Besides, he could make sure the food was conveniently fingersized for Rusty to hide.

"I'll be in the kitchen," he said, as brightly as he could. "Feel free to put the TV on."

He made and cut up a selection of sandwiches, french fries and hot dogs, and he was no more surprised that Rusty didn't seem to eat any of it than he was that Rusty hadn't put on the TV. It was going to take a lot of work to make Rusty comfortable with everything. The more time Saul spent with him, the more he came to believe that Rusty had been so mistreated that all adults were monsters to him; to be feared and appeased, but never, ever trusted. He could tell Rusty that he was safe, but 'safe' was a concept that Rusty simply didn't understand.

He managed to find plenty of excuses to look away over dinner, and he was confident that some of the food had wound up in Rusty's pockets. At least the child would eat something.

After dinner, Saul led them through to the living room and put the TV on without turning it up too high. He waited half an hour or so. Until he was confident that Rusty was as relaxed as he was going to get.

"The episode you had in the bedroom," he said quietly. "You said it was a memory, right?"

Rusty nodded slowly.

"Has it happened before"? he asked, trying not to sound too anxious.

Another nod.

"Was it just a memory, or was it like you were reliving it?" he tried.

Rusty pressed his lips together and looked down, not answering either one.

"Sometimes if someone's badly hurt or distressed, they find it difficult to get free from what happened," he said, picking his words carefully, trying to put it in a way Rusty would understand. "It's a fairly common reaction to trauma, I think. It should be treatable."

He'd worked with a guy a few years back who was taking care of his brother, who'd just got back from Vietnam. Paulie, his name was. He'd had flashbacks and woke up screaming in the middle of the night. He'd been getting treatment, but Will – his brother – had said that it was him talking calmly to Paulie that seemed to help most. Keeping him in the moment and letting him know he wasn't alone. Saul had bumped into Will six months ago and he'd said Paulie was doing much better, and that gave him hope.

He thought maybe what Rusty needed most was stability, understanding and love, and the sooner that Saul found somewhere that could provide them the better.

Rusty was looking at him questioningly.

Saul tried to make his smile as warm and reassuring as possible. "The point is it's understandable that you're frightened. It's going to be frightening. But you shouldn't worry too much that it's happening. Do you understand?"

Rusty nodded slowly.

"I will try and answer any questions you have, Rusty," something compelled him to add. "Any way you can find to ask them. I'll be listening."

There was a flash of something in Rusty's eyes. Something thoughtful, maybe even something hopeful. But then he studiously turned his attention to the TV, ignoring Saul with a sort of desperate defiance that made it clear he expected to be punished for it.

"Alright," Saul said softly instead. "But I'm still here, Rusty."

They watched TV for an hour or so, until the second time Saul spotted Rusty trying frantically to suppress a yawn.

"How about we call that bedtime?" he suggested firmly, and his breath caught at the fleeting expression of sheer terror on Rusty's face. "I just want you to get some sleep, that's all," he said quickly, hoping it was reassuring.

But even though Rusty's face was blank, he didn't look entirely convinced, and Saul was careful to stay well away from the bathroom while Rusty was getting ready. And still, Rusty hesitated in his bedroom door, looking back at Saul like he was waiting for instructions. Saul wondered darkly how often Rusty had taken part in this little scene, and just what the instructions had been.

"Lie down," he said gently, and he bit back the sigh as Rusty lay down on his stomach on top of the covers, his legs spread and crooked just enough to be...suggestive. It wasn't an offer, not quite, it was more of an...expectation. He wasn't even entirely sure that Rusty was conscious of what he was doing, and that thought just made him feel sick.

"Why don't you get under the covers and lie comfortably," he suggested, as calmly as he could, and obediently Rusty slipped under the blankets, but he lay straight and stiff, tension radiating off him. It got worse as Saul approached, and he was upset to realise he could actually see Rusty trembling. Still, he lightly placed his hand on the comforter over Rusty's shoulder for a second. He knew Rusty wasn't comfortable with him this close, but he thought maybe it would be good for Rusty to realise that not all physical contact led to pain. Maybe. He was working blind here.

"Goodnight, Rusty," he said gruffly, lightly tucking the blankets around the child's bony shoulders. "Sleep as late as you like tomorrow, you need your rest."

Rusty nodded, still blank faced, and Saul carefully backed away, closing the door over behind him.

He sighed wearily, deciding to head to bed himself. It had been a very long day.

Unsurprisingly, Saul woke up several times during the night, needing to go check on Rusty. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of the previous night, and the first time, when he saw the empty bed, his heart stopped beating for a second. Oh, God. He'd been sure that between them he and Danny had managed to persuade Rusty to stay. He'd _seen_ the look on Rusty's face when they'd come back to find Danny sitting distraught on the doorstep. Somehow, he'd been sure that Rusty wouldn't hurt Danny like that again.

He was just about ready to run out and start looking when he suddenly realised he could hear the sound of frightened breathing. Slowly, he bent down and looked under the bed.

Rusty was lying huddled against the wall, looking up at him, his eyes wild and terror-filled. He flinched back when he saw Saul had found him, trying to pull himself further under the bed.

"Oh, Rusty," Saul whispered, heart aching.

Rusty tilted his head to one side, but didn't move. At least he was reacting, Saul supposed.

"Did you have a bad dream?" he guessed, and Rusty shook his head fractionally.

Oh. He bit his lip. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable in the bed?" he suggested.

Again, the headshake was tiny, but determined.

Saul hesitated, uncertain. The very idea that Rusty was so afraid and uncomfortable in his home that he only felt safe under the bed, actually physically hurt. But on the other hand, if Rusty _did_ feel even a little safer, Saul didn't want to take away his sanctuary.

He didn't know what to do. Hell, what _could_ he do? Was he seriously thinking about physically dragging Rusty out of there? He could imagine how Rusty would take that.

"Okay," he sighed. "Whatever makes you comfortable, Rusty. Just try and get some sleep, okay?"

Rusty's eyes followed suspiciously as he left the room.

The next couple of times he checked, Rusty was still hiding under the bed. He obviously _was_ sleeping though, judging by the exhausted way he blinked up at Saul. That was something at least. He just wished Rusty was sleeping in his own bed, and when he eventually fell asleep, his dreams were vague and troubled.


	10. Chapter 10

Unusually he didn't wake up until after nine the next morning. He hesitated outside Rusty's door for a moment, considering, but decided that he didn't want to risk waking the child again by checking on him. Instead he had a leisurely shower and an even more leisurely breakfast, eating toast and eggs with the paper spread over the kitchen table.

It was when he was starting on the crossword and his second cup of coffee that he heard a noise and the door opened a fraction.

"Come in," he called warmly, and Rusty silently stepped through.

It was difficult to tell beneath the bruises, but Saul thought he looked a little better than he had yesterday. Maybe a little less exhausted, a shade or two better than deathly pale. He was wearing the same clothes he'd had on yesterday though. Saul wondered if maybe in Rusty's mind those were the only ones he had permission to wear.

Well, that could wait until after breakfast. First things first.

"Why don't you go and get your cushion while I get your breakfast sorted?" he suggested.

Rusty shook his head immediately, his lips pressed firmly together.

Right. No breakfast. And it was coming up for twenty four hours since Rusty had _officially_ eaten, and even though Saul knew he'd taken – and presumably eaten – a few things, he'd still be so much happier if Rusty would just sit down and eat.

He tried his best to hide his frustration as he went to retrieve the cushion himself, lingering in the living room a few minutes longer than he had to. Listening carefully, he thought he heard the fridge door open and shut. Good.

A few minutes later he headed back through, just in time to see Rusty frantically licking crumbs off his fingers. He pretended not to notice and instead laid the cushion on the chair. "Take a seat," he invited, and Rusty did so.

Quietly he put the cup of pills and a glass of water in front of Rusty, and was relieved when, again, Rusty swallowed them without protest.

He wanted Rusty to feel safe and in control, and really he wanted Rusty to choose to take the medicine, but the truth was if he refused Saul would have to find a way to make him take them. And he really didn't want to do that.

Quickly, he made Rusty some eggs and toast, noticing as he opened the fridge to pour him a glass of milkshake, that a couple of the leftover sandwiches from last night had gone missing. He made a mental note to make sure there was always something in the fridge that Rusty would be able to take.

"There we go," he said, laying the plate down in front of Rusty with a flourish.

Rusty sat hunched over it like it was some sort of punishment.

Suppressing the sigh. Saul turned his attention back to his coffee and the crossword, hoping that if he wasn't actually _watching_ Rusty might be willing to eat.

But he didn't hear the sound of cutlery, and when he did look up, the eggs and the milkshake hadn't been touched. There was one less toast soldier though. Maybe that counted as a small victory. He bit his tongue savagely. Rusty might not be in danger of starving, but he _had_ to be hungry.

Right now, though Rusty was gazing intently at Saul's newspaper, apparently reading the crossword upside down.

"Any ideas?" he asked with a smile. "I'm afraid I'm stuck."

Rusty looked at him warily for a long second, and then carefully picked up the pen in his left hand and moved round to the side of the table, keeping one eye on Saul all the time.

He hovered over a clue for a moment – 'King of the Empire, (4)' – and then painstakingly wrote 'Kong'.

"Of course," Saul said with a sigh. "I should have known." He smiled warmly. "Well done, though. Thank you. You like movies?"

Slowly, Rusty nodded.

"Mmm," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe at some point I'll take you and Danny to the pictures. When you're feeling a little better."

Rusty fixed him with a look of suspicion, evidently not trusting Saul's motives, but Saul just met his gaze openly and evenly. Eventually, Rusty was going to realise that there was nothing sinister behind this.

He looked down at the paper again. "Any other ideas?" he asked brightly. "Scale where F is highest, what do you think?"

Rusty hesitated for a second before scribbling in 'Gasgauge' and looking up at Saul enquiringly.

"Sounds good," he said with a smile. He glanced at Rusty's hand thoughtfully. "You know, you could start writing things down when you have something you want to say."

Instantly, Rusty dropped the pen with a tense frown, moving back out of arms' reach.

"I didn't mean you have to," Saul told him quickly. "I just meant you have another option, that's all."

Rusty shook his head, and Saul wasn't even sure exactly what he was denying, he just knew that somehow the moment had been lost.

He sighed. Rusty was pulling uncomfortably at his sweater collar, like it was subconsciously annoying him.

"Go take a shower," Saul advised. "And change into some fresh clothes. You'll feel better."

The look that came his way was a mix of gratitude and despair that left his head spinning.

While Rusty was in the bathroom he tried to figure out what they were going to do today. Tomorrow morning they'd have the meeting with the psychologist and the social workers and God knew who else. He'd have to tell Rusty as much as he knew about that. Not that he had a good idea what was going to happen, but he didn't want Rusty walking in there blind. And that would probably be a good opportunity for him to tell them what he figured Rusty needed. Get them talking about foster parents or whatever. Tell them that he'd seen nothing to suggest that Rusty needed to be locked up. Maybe he'd be able to pick up some advice at the same time. See if they had any ideas how to persuade Rusty it was safe to eat.

He frowned in sudden realisation. This was only a temporary situation. An emergency placement, they'd called it. He'd talk to them tomorrow, but it could be they were planning on taking Rusty away from him the next day.

The thought made him unexpectedly cold.

Not unless they had something else lined up that he could look at and say unequivocally that it would be better for Rusty. He had a duty to make sure Rusty was looked after, and he wasn't going to give that up until he was sure. And if the professionals thought different, well. He'd won them around before. He'd win them round again.

Besides, his initial argument still held. Rusty had appointments to see the doctors tomorrow and Friday, and it would be easier if he was close to the hospital.

Hopefully that should give him time to talk the social workers round to his point of view.

The doorbell rang shortly after Rusty reappeared, dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and dark sweat pants that put Saul uncomfortably in mind of what the other children in the institute had been wearing. As long as Rusty was comfortable, he supposed...

Danny was at the door, looking eager and carrying a large rucksack. There was no sign of his mother.

"Do your parents know where you are?" he asked Danny, once Danny was in and settled on the sofa beside Rusty.

"Dad's been away all this week on business and Mom went out this morning and said she wouldn't be in till late tonight," Danny said with a shrug.

"She left you alone?" Saul frowned, and maybe he'd only been a responsible par...responsible _adult_ for five minutes, but that didn't sit well with him.

Danny shrugged again. "I'm twelve. Not a kid. I don't need taken care of."

Saul was inclined to disagree, but Rusty had turned to look at Danny sharply, a stricken look on his face. Saul frowned, but Danny seemed to understand perfectly.

"Yeah, I'm twelve," he said gently. "It's January, Rus'. It's been five months."

Rusty's face seemed to shut down.

"Were you in that basement the whole time?" Danny asked, an edge to his voice.

Saul tensed, not sure if Rusty was ready for that sort of question, not sure if Danny should be hearing the answer.

Rusty shook his head, somehow seeming to have shut down even further.

It might be a relief to think that Rusty hadn't been down there for the whole time, but he knew that it must still have been an unthinkably long time. Rusty really hadn't seemed to know how much time had passed. He supposed there wouldn't be any daylight, and precious few meals. Nothing to judge by. He shivered.

"Hey," Danny said gently, all his attention on Rusty. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked." He reached out and laid his hand carefully on Rusty's wrist, and Rusty flinched noticeably and drew his hand away.

Danny sighed. "Sorry," he said again miserably, and Rusty looked up at him apologetically, a question in his eyes.

Again to Saul's surprise, Danny didn't seem to have any trouble translating. "Not much," he said with a shrug. "Mom and Dad were angry with me, and Mom said I didn't deserve a party or presents or anything. Not that I wanted anything anyway," he added. "But Dad got a cake from the store, and they gave me thirty dollars."

Saul was left frowning. The more he heard about Danny's parents, the unhappier he was. Who told a twelve year old that he didn't deserve anything for their birthday? And he knew the follow up question he should have asked, once he knew Danny's mother didn't know he was here, He should be asking if she'd forbidden it, but what the hell was he going to do if Danny said she had? Drive him back to an empty house? At least he knew Danny was safe here.

"I brought some things," Danny said, pulling some things out of a rucksack. Board games, books, a couple of toy cars and action figures. "Just stuff I thought you might like."

"Thank you, Danny," Saul said warmly, impressed by the thoughtful gesture as Rusty looked through the books and toys, wonder in his eye.

Again, Danny gave him that look, the one that suggested he was unused to praise and wasn't exactly sure what to do with it. It made him look like the twelve year old boy he really was, and it left Saul with the same burning desire to protect him that he felt for Rusty.

Rusty touched a book lightly, looking up at Danny, with a sort of wistful surprise.

"We never finished it," Danny said simply. "Thought you might like..." He stopped, smiling as Rusty nodded fervently. "Okay, then. You know where we left off?"

A second, as Rusty leafed through the book, and then he handed it back to Danny, who looked over at Saul anxiously. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not," Saul said immediately.

But Rusty was looking at him as well now, his expression guarded, and with a sigh, Saul picked up yesterday's paper and pretended to occupy himself with it. Unfortunately, it seemed as though the boys would be more comfortable if he wasn't paying them too much attention.

In reality though, he listened as Danny read. The story wasn't one he knew, but it was funny, and in the circumstances more than a little bit heartbreaking. A child who wasn't properly looked after and cruel adults who never listened. Seemed like it might be a little familiar to both boys, judging by the way they looked at each other at certain points.

By the time Danny closed the book it was coming up for lunchtime. Rusty was curled against the arm of the sofa, gazing at Danny sleepily.

Saul's breath caught in his throat.

Rusty was smiling.

Oh, it was a tiny smile in the scheme of things, just a slight quirk to his mouth as he looked up at Danny, but nevertheless...Saul had never _seen_ him smile, and the sight made him warm inside.

He stayed quiet and didn't interrupt. Right now he figured this moment with his friend was probably more restful and reassuring than anything Saul had been able to offer so far.

Quietly he went through to the kitchen and took as long as he could fixing a large plate of sandwiches and a bowl of potato chips, and when he came back, Rusty and Danny were playing some game with the toy cars and the action figures.

He laid the plates down on the coffee table. "Help yourself," he invited cheerfully.

Danny grinned round at him. "Thanks," he started to say, but then he stopped, frowning and looking at Rusty.

Rusty's expression was somewhere between fear and obstinance, and he looked between Danny and the food.

He was scared _for_ Danny, Saul realised dully. Whatever the issue was, he wanted to protect Danny from it.

For a long second the boys just stared at each other. Then Danny turned back to Saul with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Saul. I'm afraid I'm not hungry right now."

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Rusty. "Would you like something to eat?" he asked gently.

Rusty shook his head fiercely.

He nodded again, suppressing the sigh. "Remember it's there if you want it," he told both of them as he took some food himself, hoping it might encourage Rusty to accept it was safe. He half wished Danny would do the same, not least because now he had two hungry children refusing to eat. But he could understand that Danny's actions were based in pure loyalty, and he couldn't exactly argue with that. Instead he found excuses to leave the room, and afterwards, judging by the plate of sandwiches and the smallest trace of guilt in Danny's eyes, the smallest shadow of defiance in Rusty's, the boys had managed to get something to eat.

That was something at least. He just felt like he should have managed to do more.

He glanced at the board games lying on the floor. "How about we play Monopoly?" he suggested cheerfully.

* * *

There was something surreal about this, Danny thought. Not just the sheer unexpectedness of an adult sitting down to play a game with them, it was the way it almost felt...normal. Like if they could just relax a little more they'd somehow be comfortable.

It had felt like that all day. It had only been the little moments that kept him uneasy, like when Saul stood up and Rusty tensed, watching him nervously until he left the room and was no longer an immediate threat. Or the way Rusty had begged him to refuse to eat lunch. He hadn't been able to even figure out the reasons. Rusty had stared at him desperately, like he was trying to explain, but Danny just hadn't understood.

Some thoughts were too complicated to explain through their...thing, whatever it was. Or maybe Danny wouldn't have understood even if Rusty had been able to put it into words.

There were things he struggled with, after all. He didn't understand how Rusty could blame himself for what his parents did, no matter how often Rusty explained it. He didn't _really_ understand why Rusty wouldn't talk. There was logic at work he couldn't grasp.

All he knew was Rusty was terrified at the thought of eating, and he wasn't going to argue. Then, when Saul left the room and Rusty quickly stole a couple of sandwiches and thrust one at him, an expression of pleading anxiety on his face, Danny hadn't been able to say no. Even though he didn't care for sneaking around behind Saul's back.

Rusty wasn't right, that was the point. He was lost and confused, and Danny _could_ read the pain in every movement, and he could see the terror through the blankness in Rusty's eyes.

And yet they were sitting and playing Monopoly like there was nothing wrong.

He noticed with a slight smile that Saul didn't seem frustrated with Rusty not talking. He just asked questions, looked where Rusty pointed, and paid attention to the smallest clues. As far as Danny could see, Saul understood what Rusty meant maybe two or three times out of five. Far as Danny was concerned those were good odds, but it was more the patience involved that impressed him. Impossible to imagine his parents doing the same.

( _He wondered, not for the first time, if he begged Saul to stay, would he?_ )

The game eventually ended in a draw between him and Rusty. He had a sneaking suspicion that Saul might have lost deliberately, though he wasn't exactly sure how.

As they cleared away the board and pieces, Saul leaned over the table, looking at Rusty. "I wanted to talk to you about what's going to happen tomorrow," he said in a low voice. "I was wondering if you would be more comfortable talking with Danny here?"

Rusty glanced at him for a moment, chewing on his lip. Then – slowly – he nodded.

"Okay then," Saul said with a warm smile. "As you know, Danny and me have already talked to the police about what happened. I imagine they've also talked to the other children and the staff, as well as Mayhew. But they need to hear from you."

Rusty blinked, wanting to know _how,_ and Saul clearly read the same question.

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. "Apparently they have people who are especially trained to deal with these situations. I'll make sure they explain it completely before we go in, but I imagine that they'll want you to do stuff in order to find out what happened to you."

"Nothing bad," Danny cut in quickly. "Right?" He looked at Saul.

"Nothing bad," Saul echoed. "And I'll be there to make sure of it."

That left Danny feeling reassured. Maybe more reassured than it really should, but Rusty's face was closed down and that was worrying.

"I know you don't want to go over everything," Saul said gently. "But the police need to know what happened and the social workers want to assess you so they know how best to help you."

"Haven't they done enough?" Danny asked harshly, before he could even consider whether or not it was wise.

Saul sighed, and he didn't agree with him, but he didn't disagree either. "Right now they're trying to help. And we need to cooperate with them because they can find somewhere for Rusty to live. Somewhere safe."

He could understand that. He just didn't like it, that was all. And by the way Rusty was shaking his head, Rusty didn't even _believe_ it.

"Anyway," Saul went on. "We'll be going round to the police station tomorrow morning for ten. And no one is going to be doing anything without talking to you about it first, Rusty."

There was a slight-but-desperate glint of gratitude in Rusty's eyes.

"Thanks, Saul," Danny said sincerely for both of them.

They watched TV for a while, and gradually Rusty dozed off on the sofa. Danny looked down at him worriedly. Rusty was so weak and exhausted, and Danny longed to pull him into his arms and look after him. But even if Rusty could stand that, Danny seriously doubted that Saul would be understanding and accepting.

He kept his distance and watched Rusty sleep. After a moment he realised that Saul was watching both of them. Embarrassed he grabbed his bag, planning on sorting his stuff, but in his haste he knocked it over and papers spilled out over the floor.

His school stuff. He grimaced. "Sorry," he said, as Saul came over to help him pick it up.

"Hmmm." Saul made a soft noise of surprise and disapproval, and Danny looked up quickly to see he was holding the letter from the principal.

He snatched it away quickly. "It's nothing," he said quickly.

It was just a letter to his parents telling them he hadn't been doing his homework, and he was failing all his classes and warning of consequences unless he cleaned his act up. And maybe it wasn't _nothing_ but the point was, it was nothing he cared about.

Saul was looking at him intently and it was...unnerving. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he liked this close attention. "Oh, Danny," Saul said quietly.

"It's _nothing,_ " he said again, sounding just a little desperate.

"If you're struggling in school, there's things we can look at," Saul offered gently.

"I'm not struggling, I just don't care," Danny burst out, defiant and truthful.

Saul looked at him for a long moment. "Why not?" he asked, sounding curious rather than judgemental.

Danny looked away. "There's just no point to it," he muttered. He reached down and grabbed his science homework off the floor. "Look at this," he demanded. "When am I ever gonna need to know what makes up a plant cell?"

"I can't imagine," Saul said calmly, but then he leaned forwards and fixed Danny with a steady gaze. "But Danny...in all my life, I've never regretted knowing something. It's the things you _don't_ know that'll get you. There's nothing wrong with knowledge."

He bit his lip. The simple concern in Saul's voice disarmed him. "I...when I was a kid, my parents moved me through a lot of schools," he explained awkwardly. "And then I met Rusty and we agreed if they let me stay I'd try in school."

"And then your mother took Rusty away," Saul said understandingly.

Danny ducked his head sharply, taking deep breaths. "What's the point in trying? There's so many more important things than school."

Saul sighed. "Danny...forgive me, but it's not your parents you're punishing with this. It's yourself."

He nodded shakily. It was true. Mom and Dad hadn't even noticed. And even if they did, they wouldn't understand. But it was just so difficult to care about school, and it had been so long now he didn't even know how to start.

"Why don't we take a look at this together?" Saul suggested, taking the homework out of his hand.

He stared. "You're going to help me with my homework?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Saul said simply.

"Okay then," he swallowed hard, as Saul guided him over towards the desk.

This was surreal too.

* * *

For a moment, when he woke up, Rusty wasn't sure where he was. Half awake, aware of the softness beneath him, he was convinced that he was back lying on the bed in the basement, waiting as Dr Mayhew kindly gave him the chance to rest up. For that moment he could smell Dr Mayhew on him, could feel the filth drying on his face. He was cold and alone and afraid, and he accepted that. But then he opened his eyes and reality was so much worse.

He could see Danny sitting at the desk in the corner of the room, and Saul was standing right behind him – too close, far too close, close enough to touch – and the horror he felt at the thought was like a punch in the stomach.

Not Danny. Oh, please, not Danny. Not _ever._

With a soundless cry he was on his feet, throwing himself against the room, physically putting himself between them and shoving Saul away – actually touching him, _pushing_ him even, and he knew there'd be hell to pay for that later, but he didn't care. _Not. Danny._

They were talking – both of them – but he couldn't focus enough to make out the words. Panic and effort had left him shaken and dizzy. He felt himself sway and fall, and when Saul grabbed him he was helpless to resist.

He was lifted up and dumped back on the sofa and he cringed, waiting helplessly for what was to come, hoping against hope that Saul was only going to beat him and not use him. Not in front of Danny.

Not Danny. He'd do anything Saul wanted – let himself by used any way Saul could imagine – if only he'd leave Danny alone.

Maybe it was because he was broken inside and they'd had to stitch him. Maybe he wasn't any good anymore and that was why Saul had turned to Danny. That would make it all his fault. But he was good with his mouth! Dr Mayhew had even said so. He'd said Rusty had a talent and it made him seem almost clever – like a dog learning a new trick. If Saul would only make a move, Rusty would show him he was capable of pleasing. Anything for Danny.

There was no pain. No punches. No whip.

"He was just helping me with my homework," Danny told him, crouched beside the sofa. "Nothing bad was happening."

He lifted his head groggily, and he could see the agonised truth in Danny's eyes. Danny believed what he was saying, but then it wasn't Danny Rusty mistrusted. And even if Saul _was_ helping with Danny's homework, why would he do that unless he was trying to catch Danny in the net of gratitude and obligation?

But Rusty couldn't explain that. Danny was good and clean and innocent – everything Rusty wasn't – and he wanted Danny to stay that way.

He ducked his head down so Danny couldn't see his eyes. Maybe he needed to stop being selfish and start pushing Danny away. Because he was so much less than Danny, and he couldn't say that Danny would be safe if he stayed near. On the other hand, he thought of the look in Danny's eyes on the doorstep when he thought Rusty had gone again, and he didn't know if he could put Danny through that. Danny didn't want to lose him.

There were worse things that could happen to Danny than a broken heart.

Still, he didn't know what to do.

"Are you still feeling dizzy?" Saul asked softly.

He shook his head quickly, not considering whether it was true or not. How could he trust the gentle concern in Saul's voice when the man hadn't even punished him yet? It made him nervous.

"I'm not angry with you," Saul told him. "You were trying to protect Danny."

He tensed at the implication that Danny _needed_ protected, and he didn't really relax as Saul went on. "Danny is in no danger from me. I would _never_ hurt him. _Never._ And I will not hurt you."

There was an air of expectation and he nodded like he believed the words.

"Why don't the two of you go through to your room to play for a bit?" Saul suggested.

That sounded good. Getting a bit of breathing space. He nodded gratefully and stood up patiently, and Danny made as if to take his arm as they walked through. He flinched away and carefully didn't offer the look of apology he might have.

"Saul really wasn't going to hurt me," Danny said once they were alone.

He shrugged.

"He hasn't hurt you," Danny persisted.

Rusty remembered the doctors in the hospital and kept his face blank and his eyes on the floor. No, Saul hadn't hurt him. But in his own way, Saul had made it perfectly clear that he understood what Rusty was for. And he remembered last night and the memories of Saul opening the door and watching him were cut through with memories of Stuart and James dragging him out of bed, until he almost couldn't be certain that Saul hadn't let them in to use him last night.

And, in spite of himself, he felt a stab of hurt that Danny was choosing Saul's side over his.

"Oh, Rus'," Danny said with a sigh. "'m sorry. I just think that he's a good guy, that's all."

Rusty wondered how he could begin to explain that the two weren't mutually exclusive.

"I want to come with you tomorrow," Danny announced abruptly.

Come with him. To what sounded like a therapy session or an assessment, or any one of his own personal nightmares. He knew how this worked. He'd need to show them he was worth keeping, and with a dull horror, he realised that he wouldn't be able to do that if Danny was there. If Danny was watching there was no way he'd be able to bring himself to be properly willing and grateful, and they'd throw him away for good. And worse still, maybe Danny would try and interfere.

Staring at the floor, he shook his head fiercely.

"You don't want me there?" Danny whispered.

He nodded emphatically, mind made up. He didn't want Danny anywhere near.

"I..I could wait outside?" Danny suggested hesitantly.

But he might still be able to hear, and he remembered Kenny Brewer and Carrie Everett, waiting outside Dr Mayhew's office to be caned while he'd been inside. They'd followed him around for days afterwards, sniggering and making little moaning sounds at him, telling him he had a pretty mouth. He shook his head again.

"Why don't you want me there?" Danny asked miserably.

Because Danny should be at school. Happy and safe among normal people. Because he could maybe accept what he had to do, but he didn't want Danny to see. Because every time Danny looked at him with that soft, desperate expression he felt all torn up and confused inside, and he honestly thought the hope might kill him.

"Alright," Danny said, defeated. "Alright. I'll stay away tomorrow. But I'm coming round to see you straight after school."

He wondered if he could get away with demanding Danny stay away altogether. But there was a wildness in Danny's eyes that had him reluctant to even try.

It left him feeling as he had so often before – desperate to reach out and give the comfort he was incapable of offering. Instead he turned his attention to the bag of toys at their feet and ignored Danny's pain.

The rest of the evening passed quickly and he rebuffed all of Danny's anxious concerns as gently as he could. A few times while they were playing he actually dozed off, and once he woke up with his head pressed against Danny's leg, his hand twisted in Danny's shirt, holding onto him. Danny was looking down at him with a desperate sort of intensity, like he was trying to make the moment last forever in his head.

Rusty sat up quickly, doubling over in pain as his ribs protested the too-sudden movement.

"Oh, Rus'," Danny said, his voice choked, and Rusty pulled away from the comforting hand on his shoulder, disgusted with himself that he actually _found_ it a comfort.

"I'm sorry," Danny said quietly, his hands held stiffly against his sides, his eyes downcast, and Rusty looked at him hesitantly, trying to show his apologies, trying to tell Danny that it wasn't _him,_ it was all Rusty, and he couldn't...he just _couldn't._

It was already dark when Saul made dinner. Rusty didn't eat any of it, and thankfully neither did Danny. He managed to pocket a few things though, and Saul never even noticed.

After dinner they watched TV and he had to pinch himself not to fall asleep. He was warm, the pills were masking most of the pain, he wasn't starving, and Danny was sitting right next to him. Sleep was an easy trap to fall into.

Eventually Saul seemed to notice. "We should be getting you home, Danny," he said. "Do you think your Mom will be in by now?"

"Maybe," Danny said reluctantly. "I'm not exactly sure where she was going. But I can just walk or take the bus back, Saul."

"Yes, that's not going to happen," Saul said dryly. "I'm not letting you walk home alone, especially when we don't even know if there'd be anyone in."

Danny looked like he wanted to argue but didn't, and Rusty was relieved. They didn't know how Saul would react after all.

But Saul looked at the expression on Danny's face and sighed. "Danny...I just want to know you're safe, that's all. I know you think you're old enough to look after yourself, and I know your mother doesn't mind, but we all know there are..." He took a deep breath. " _Evil_ people in the world. I don't want you getting hurt."

Huh. Somehow when that earnest, caring look was directed at Danny instead of him, it was so much harder to resist. He wanted Danny to be looked after. He wanted Danny to be safe. And yes, he still thought Saul had ulterior motives, but just like before, he liked the tone.

And certainly he liked the fact that Danny didn't have to walk home.

He hadn't fully appreciated how close Saul's apartment was to Danny's home. Probably if he was walking, it wouldn't take more than half an hour. That was reassuring somehow. Though as he remembered from the night before last, walking more than ten minutes at a time resulted in agony.

"Oh!" Danny sounded surprised as they pulled into his driveway.

Rusty looked and recognised Danny's father's car.

"Dad's home," Danny said, a mixture of pleasure and apprehension in his voice.

He smiled at Danny without even thinking about it. He knew how much Danny hated it when his father was gone for a long time. Danny smiled back, his eyes suddenly so much lighter. He must be looking forward to seeing his Dad again. Maybe he'd been away a while.

"He doesn't know about everything," Danny told him softly.

Oh. Of course he wouldn't. And he remembered how Danny's _mother_ had looked at him and shuddered. One more person who could tell Rusty wasn't good enough. Suddenly he felt guilty again.

"Would it be easier if I went inside with you and explained?" Saul offered, looking at Danny in the rear view mirror.

Rusty shivered. He didn't want to be explained. He didn't want to be the nasty little problem Saul was in charge of.

But Danny nodded, looking relieved. "Yeah. Thanks."

Rusty hung back as Saul knocked on the door and Danny's father fixed them with puzzled looks when he answered. "Hello?"

"Mr Ocean, good evening," Saul said smoothly. "I'm Saul Bergman, Rusty's new foster carer. I'm just giving Danny a ride home."

"I...see," Danny's father said slowly. "I suppose you'd better come in." He held the door open and they trailed inside.

"Hi, Dad," Danny said softly. "I'm glad you're home."

"I'll talk to you later, Danny," Danny's father said warningly, and Rusty automatically took a step closer beside him in a gesture of silent support. Danny flashed him the quickest look of gratitude.

"I thought he was in an institution," Danny's father went on, talking to Saul but looking at Rusty, and he wasn't nearly good enough an actor to hide the look of apprehensive distaste.

"Not anymore," Saul said evenly.

"He never should have been," Danny burst out furiously. "I _told_ you."

"Perhaps it would be best if we discussed this away from the children," Saul suggested.

"Right," Danny's father agreed, and they stepped into the living room.

"Are you going to be okay tomorrow?" Danny asked in a low voice.

He started to nod automatically and then hesitated, struck by the hurt on Danny's face at the lie.

For a moment he felt angry with Danny. He'd come to terms with this, for the most part anyway. He understood that he had no choice, he understood that people were going to use him and hurt him, but with Danny acting like it was the end of the world...it made it harder for him to pretend to himself that he was okay.

He was scared. He was scared of what could happen tomorrow. He was scared of going back with Saul tonight. He was scared of what Dr Mayhew was going to say when Rusty was sent back to the Institute, cos surely he was going to be furious that Rusty had somehow caused all this fuss.

And in spite of all that he _had_ to be okay tomorrow, because whatever was going to happen would happen, no matter what he did. He couldn't fight and he couldn't run, and he preferred to stand on his own two feet, even if he was on his knees.

God, he was tired.

Saul had said being scared was understandable but he shouldn't worry too much about being used. That was the message he had to concentrate on. Not Danny's thoughts about what was and wasn't right in some perfect world.

He turned away and refused to look at Danny again, no matter how Danny pleaded. After a few minutes Saul emerged and looked between them keenly, a troubled frown apparent. But all he said was "Ready to go home, Rusty?"

Saul's apartment. Not home. He didn't _have_ a home. The Institute was as close as he'd got, and they didn't want him either.

"I didn't tell Mr Ocean the details," Saul said quietly in the car. "I just told him that you'd been...badly treated there, that Danny had discovered it and that I was looking after you now. I suppose he'll hear from Danny's mother, but I didn't tell him, I promise."

Huh. He wasn't sure why Saul was telling him that. He was even less sure why it made his heart feel lighter.

"I told him that Danny could use someone to talk to. That he needed some attention and understanding," Saul added. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and even as Rusty was tensing at the hint of anger he was wondering why. Maybe, just maybe Saul had noticed the way Danny's parents treated him. Maybe he liked it as little as Rusty did. Danny was special, after all. Extraordinary. He thought again about the concern Saul had shown... maybe Saul just wanted to do right by Danny after all.

Not that he could take that chance. The stakes were too high.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, and by the time they pulled up outside Saul's apartment building Rusty was so tired that he barely noticed Saul shepherding him upstairs, his hand hovering over Rusty's shoulder, almost but not quite touching.

As he had the past two nights he got ready when Saul told him to. Saul had bought some shampoo that was apparently specially formulated for children, and he figured he was supposed to use that for lube. Surprisingly it actually burned and itched less than the soap he'd used the first night, though he had noticed last night that it had seemed to dry kinda quickly, and he was worried just how effective it would be when...when the time came. Maybe if Saul took it slowly and eased his way in it would be alright. He made sure to stretch himself extra, just in case, and he opened his mouth as far as he could a couple of times, hoping to stretch his jaw too.

This would be the third night. Two full days and Saul hadn't used him once. And okay, so Rusty refusing to eat was probably helping by denying Saul an excuse, but he hadn't expected that to mean Saul wouldn't use him at all. Made him uneasy. He couldn't quite believe that Saul was going to wait until he was all healed up, because what would be the _point?_ He'd just get torn again. Unless Saul just liked seeing where he'd been. He shivered.

No, he was left with the feeling that Saul was just toying with him. Waiting until he was lulled into being relaxed and properly grateful. Until he'd fully enjoyed all these things that he didn't deserve and he'd have to do whatever Saul wanted.

Dr Mayhew had made it all very simple.

_It was after the first time his body had been used, not just his mouth. Dr Mayhew had just helped him get cleaned up. He was shaking...hunched over on the floor, staring up at the bed. He understood what had happened, he just didn't understand why it felt so awful. So much worse than any beating ever had, and he felt so wrong and so filthy, and he desperately wanted to find his voice, to tell Dr Mayhew that he was sorry, that whatever he'd done he was so, so sorry, and he'd never ever do it again._

" _Come up here," Dr Mayhew told him with a soft smile, patting the edge of the bed beside him._

_Slowly – involuntarily – Rusty shook his head, and he winced at the show of defiance. Dr Mayhew had said if he was a good boy he'd get a cup of soup as well as the bread. It was still sitting on the shelf over by the door, and he_ wanted _it. He was so hungry it ached. He was so hungry he'd been falling over himself to do whatever Dr Mayhew told him to._

_But rather than get angry Dr Mayhew sighed mildly and stood up, picking Rusty up off the floor like he weighed nothing, and depositing him on the bed before sitting next to him, putting a friendly arm over his shoulders and pulling him into his side in a warm embrace._

" _There now," Dr Mayhew said companionably. "Isn't that better?" He rubbed Rusty's arm comfortingly and kissed his hair, and somehow Rusty felt dirtier than ever. No one touched him like this. No one except Danny, maybe, sometimes, and the thought made him feel sick and disgusting._

" _It's always difficult the first time, but at least it was with me," Dr Mayhew went on. "I'll be patient with you, I promise. I'll carry on being gentle until you've learned properly."_

_This was going to happen again. This was going to happen again and that had been_ gentle. _He bit his lip hard._

" _Hey, now," Dr Mayhew chided softly. "Don't get upset. You did very well for a first time, don't worry." He stroked Rusty's hair gently before absently wiping his hand on the bedsheet. "You need to remember," he said, laying his hand on Rusty's thigh. "This is what you're_ for. _Remember how we talked about you being a useless parasite?" He waited expectantly. There was no malice in his voice, none of the anger and disgust that Dad might have used. He was just stating self-evident facts, and eventually Rusty nodded. "Good. Well, this is how you can be of some use. Having men use you like I just did...it gives you a purpose. It prevents you from being a complete waste of space. Without being used like this you are_ nothing, _understand?"_

_Dr Mayhew was looking at him sternly._

_Rusty swallowed hard and stared down at the floor._

_Being nothing was being locked up alone with no food or light, waiting to die. He understood the choice. This was like Dad's punishments, something he should be grateful for._

_He nodded again._

" _Good," Dr Mayhew said, sounding pleased. "Good boy." He cuddled Rusty silently for a moment. "I have to admit I was worried about you. I hate it when the children in my care prove worthless and you...well, there's not much to you, is there? You're not much to look at, you're of below average intelligence, you don't talk, and generally you're just distressingly dull."_

_Rusty flinched at the words. That...That wasn't true, was it? He didn't_ think _it was. But it was the sort of thing Mom and Dad would say. And Dr Mayhew had sounded so_ certain, _and the hand rubbing his thigh made it so hard to think._

" _I bet your teachers always acted like you were stupid, mmm?" Dr Mayhew pressed, eyeing him shrewdly, and Rusty nodded, remembering. "And people have a way of overlooking you, don't they? That's because you look so vacant. People can tell you're subnormal."_

_He absorbed the words dully, feeling the truth of them. He was worthless._

" _But when I was inside you, it was amazing," Dr Mayhew went on. "Your face just came alive. I've never seen anything like it. A remarkable transformation. Your eyes looked alive for the first time. You were obviously enjoying every minute of it."_

_No. No, he'd hated it. He had._

" _Oh, maybe it doesn't feel like it now," Dr Mayhew chuckled. "But trust me, I can tell. Your_ body _knows what it likes even if you, sadly, don't. If you could talk you'd be surprised to hear yourself begging for more."_

_The knowing tone in Dr Mayhew's voice had him hesitating, doubting himself. And people_ did _beg for more when they were being used like he had been. So maybe...maybe..._

_No. He didn't care if he never spoke again. He wasn't going to let that happen._

" _Trust me," Dr Mayhew said affectionately, his hand drifting up to play with Rusty's penis. "This is what you were born for."_

There was an anxious knock at the door. Rusty blinked and realised that he'd forced himself into the little gap between the sink and the bath.

Hastily he crawled out and pulled on his pyjamas, trying to force the taste of the memory away.

_This was what he was born for..._

Saul _had_ to use him tonight, surely, he thought anxiously. Otherwise, what would Saul tell them at the assessment tomorrow?

He stepped out of the bathroom and flinched as he saw Saul standing there, waiting for him, looking him up and down anxiously.

"Are you alright?" Saul asked. "You were in there a long time."

He nodded tersely.

Saul sighed. "Do you think you're going to be able to sleep in your bed tonight?"

He bit his lip and didn't answer.

"Well, give it a try," Saul encouraged, ushering him through to the bedroom.

Once again, Saul pulled the covers back for him, getting him to lie down and tucking him in. Once again, Saul didn't climb in after him and use him.

They hadn't at the Institute either, he reminded himself. They'd always come for him later and taken him _out_ of bed. But there'd been other boys in the same room...not that any of them would have interfered or thought anything of it other than being glad it wasn't them...but at any rate, the point was there was no one here. Saul could do whatever he wanted and _why wasn't he?_ Rusty didn't understand.

He waited until Saul turned off the light and left the room before slipping out of bed and crawling beneath where it was safer.

There was a spare pillow and blanket waiting for him.

He didn't _understand._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I'd meant to post it earlier in the week but I've been a bit ill. I'll make an effort to post the next chapter in the next few days to make up for it. :)

It was cold and clear the next morning, and Saul woke up more anxious than he ever had been before any job, and with none of the thrill. He didn't know how how today was going to turn out, but there was no way it was going to be fun for anyone involved.

Once again he'd felt compelled to check on Rusty several times through the night, and once again he'd found Rusty under the bed, looking at him like he was some terrifying monster. At least the pillow and blanket he'd left there seemed to be getting used. He'd tried to explain that he'd put them there so Rusty would be warm and comfortable, but he'd much prefer if Rusty slept in the bed, but Rusty had looked at him suspiciously and he wasn't sure he'd been believed.

He sighed, second guessing himself. Maybe Rusty thought the pillow equated tacit permission for him to sleep there, or worse, maybe he thought that was what Saul _wanted._ He just didn't know. He couldn't follow everything going on inside Rusty's head. But he was at least _trying._

They had to make a good impression this morning. He had to show them that there was no reason for Rusty to be locked up, and he was careful to wake Rusty in plenty of time for him to have a nice long shower, and pick out something for him to wear that would hopefully be comfortable and smart. He tried to get Rusty involved in choosing an outfit, but Rusty just stood there nervously, refusing to look at him or the clothes.

He had to try and stay relaxed or else he'd get Rusty upset too.

By the time they were ready Rusty still looked battered and starved and beaten, but he was clean and smartly dressed, his hair combed neatly, even if it was still too long. That alone would surely help make an impression on the social workers. Now if only he could get Rusty to eat something.

He made bagels and cream cheese for breakfast. Rusty didn't eat, but Saul had caught sight of the missing drawer liner when he'd been looking out clothes, and he'd seen the small parcel of food hidden down the back of the dresser, and after Rusty's shower he'd heard the rustle and when he'd come in Rusty had been looking anywhere except the drawers. He was satisfied that Rusty had eaten something at least.

He couldn't let this go on indefinitely, but right now it seemed the only solution that kept Rusty fed. He just worried about how fresh the food was. Now wasn't the time for the argument though, and he managed to get them out the door and driven round to the police station ten minutes before they were expected.

He turned off the engine and looked at Rusty seriously. "They need to know what happened. But if there's anything that makes you afraid or uncomfortable, just let me know and I'll stop it." He caught the sidelong wondering look that Rusty gave him. "Anything," he promised. "Wave your hand in the air...stamp your foot...just _look_ at me and I'll know." He took a deep breath. "I promised I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, Rusty. I have no intention of going back on that. Ever."

He smiled warmly at the look of relief that flickered across Rusty's face. His word must be worth something at least.

"We should go inside," he said quietly. "Stick close to me."

He was conscious of the stares as they walked in. Rusty still looked bad enough to attract attention, and the child immediately dropped back behind him, head bowed and he doubted that Rusty could tell that the anger in the room was directed at _Saul._

Walk into a police station with an obviously-abused child, you were going to get a few looks.

Wasn't for long at least. He gave their names at the desk and they were whisked through a door and led to a set of stairs down to the basement.

Rusty froze at the top of the stairs, staring down and shaking.

Saul sighed and glared at the cop escorting them. "We couldn't have done this somewhere else?" he muttered unfairly. He carefully stepped in front of Rusty, a few steps further down. "Rusty. It's not like that. I promise."

Rusty looked at him searchingly for a long moment, and he waited patiently until the suspicion cleared from his face.

"Come on," he said encouragingly, holding out his hand. Rusty didn't take it, of course, but he did gingerly walk past and continue downstairs.

There was a small know of people waiting for them. Saul recognised a few of them from the other night. "Mr Bergman, thank you for coming in," Mrs Warren said officiously.

"Of course," he said, inclining his head. "Rusty, I'm not sure if you'll remember, but this is Mrs Warren and Julie Metcalfe from social services."

Rusty managed to nod his head in an approximation of acknowledgement and Saul felt a burst of pride. He could see how much even the simple gesture was costing him, but he just wanted Rusty to feel he was being treated like a person.

And both social workers looked positively shocked. He guessed they hadn't thought Rusty capable of even that much. Honestly Rusty might not talk, but he wasn't stupid or uncomprehending. The sooner they understood that the better.

"Very good," Mrs Warren said uncertainly. "This is Lieutenant York, he's taken over the investigation."

The detective was an older man with a grizzled beard. He nodded at Saul politely. "I've read your statements. Very clear. We might be looking to clarify a few details, but I doubt it."

That was a relief.

"And this is Dr Lassiter," Mrs Warren went on, turning to the plump young man at her side. "He's a child psychologist, here to carry out the actual assessment."

He was conscious of then tension by his side, the way Rusty was fearfully not looking at Dr Lassiter, even for a second.

"Very good," Dr Lassiter said, smiling at Rusty. "Pleased to meet you, young man. They've got us set up in the other room, if you'd just like to step this way?"

It was a basic interview room. Saul gazed unhappily at the bare walls, the concrete floor, the metal table and chairs bolted to the floor. Not the sort of place he was comfortable in. And for Rusty it had to be all too reminiscent of the place he'd just left. There was a large mirror along one wall. Two way, he knew. But there was a few touches out of the ordinary. The pad of paper lying on the table was all the colours of the rainbow, and there was a crate of what looked like toys and books placed neatly under the table.

"I have a few quick questions before I get started, Mr Bergman," Lassiter started genially. "I've read Dr Mayhew's reports as well as the initial reports from the night he was brought into the hospital, and the social work statements for Friday, as well as his school records, and we'll have a more in depth discussion afterwards, but first of all, how would you rate Robert's comprehension? How much of what you say does he understand?"

He glanced down at Rusty who was staring at the floor, as if he was pretending he couldn't understand a word. "The majority," he said firmly. And the things Rusty _didn't_ understand...they weren't about comprehension so much as they were about trust.

"I see," Lassiter nodded, making a note. "And is he quick to follow instructions?"

"Generally," he said. "There are a few things..." he trailed off awkwardly, thinking of Rusty's refusal to eat.

"That's okay, we'll get into specifics later," Lassiter said quickly. "Now, does the boy attempt to communicate? Either vocally, by gesture or sign, or in writing...?"

"Gesture and facial expressions, mostly," Saul said reluctantly. "He can write, but he seems unwilling."

"I see," Lassiter nodded again, scribbling away. "Thank you, that's very helpful. Now you can wait with Mrs Warren and Lieutenant York - "

" - I'm going to stay here," Saul said firmly, and he'd swear Rusty breathed a sigh of relief.

Lassiter pursed his lips. "New to this, are you? You can sit in the room, but please don't interfere."

He nodded as if that was obvious, secretly knowing that he'd interfere the second he felt a need to.

* * *

The door slammed shut and Rusty made a conscious effort not to look. He already knew there was no way out.

Saul sat down in the chair in the corner, ready to watch. Secretly, he found that a relief. Saul had said he wouldn't let them hurt him too much, and he believed that. He'd stop them going too far – he'd punched Dr Mayhew, after all. But all his attention was on Dr Lassiter as he sat down behind the table.

"Come and sit down," Dr Lassiter said, his attention on the file in front of him.

This, at least, he understood. He walked over slowly and knelt on the floor at Dr Lassiter's feet, his hands clasped obediently behind his back, his head bowed and his mouth open, ready, waiting and submissive.

He'd sat like this for hours, sometimes, beneath the desk while Dr Mayhew worked. Dr Mayhew said it was good for him. Helped him to develop patience and focus.

There was a strangled cry from behind him, and he heard Saul stand up and he knew that somehow he'd done something wrong. "Rusty," Saul said, his voice choked, and he couldn't separate out the emotion.

Dr Lassiter was looking down at him thoughtfully. "Please take a seat on the chair," he clarified calmly, and at least _he_ didn't seem to think Rusty had done anything wrong.

But he could see the anger and pain on Saul's face when he scrambled to his feet and turned round, and Saul didn't say anything as he placed the cushion on the chair and waited until Rusty was sitting down. Briefly, he dropped a hand onto Rusty's shoulder, squeezing lightly, and it felt like...no. It was a warning, that was all. A promise of pain to come.

Dr Mayhew had taught him to always start off kneeling at his feet at any assessment or therapy session. Said it showed respect and obedience. He promised that if Rusty showed him how well he could follow instructions, he'd be able to write in his reports that Rusty was making progress, and maybe he'd get a few privileges. Some of the other kids got to have books and candy, and write letters, and even, sometimes, be taken on trips outside.

He'd assumed this assessment was going to work the same way, and that was because he was stupid. He should have known better. Right now, he was Saul's responsibility, and that meant that Saul got to decide who used him, and by presuming like he had, he'd just gone and offered himself to another man without Saul's permission.

As far as the adults were concerned, he didn't own his body. That was what Stuart and James had tried to beat into him, when he'd been struggling too much for Dr Mayhew's liking. He didn't own his body, and furiously he'd longed to ask them if his mind was his own, but he figured that as far as they were concerned he didn't have one anyway, and if they thought that he did, they'd probably try and find some way of controlling that too.

He couldn't control what happened to him. But that didn't mean he couldn't want it to stop. He wanted to run away, someplace without any people, without any touching, without _anything._ Some day, when he was older, he'd find a place like that. ( _Without Danny?_ )

But however he felt, he knew that offering himself like that had to be bad. It was like giving away Saul's property, after all, and Dr Lassiter had specifically asked how well he followed instructions, and right away he'd managed to mess up. That was two reasons for Saul to be angry. There was no way he was going to escape a beating here.

He resolved to focus on the rest of the session, determined not to let anything else slip by him.

"Alright," Dr Lassiter was saying smoothly. "We're going to talk about what happened to you the day you were taken away from the Institute, but first of all, I'd like to get to know you better, so I'm going to ask you to do a few things. Is that alright?"

He nodded dutifully. He'd been asked to do 'a few things' before.

"Good," Dr Lassiter smiled. "Now, none of this is going to be bad, but if you're confused, or if something upsets you, I want you to let me...and Mr Bergman...know. So if you feel upset and you want to take a break, just lay both your hands flat on the table. Do you think you can do that?"

He nodded again.

"Try it now," Dr Lassiter encouraged.

With a mental sigh, he laid his hands on the table, and his left hand lay flat enough, but his right hand...he tried his best to force his twisted fingers flat, and it _hurt -_

" - Stop." Saul's hand was clamped lightly around his wrist, lifting his hand up from the table and examining his fingers carefully. "Oh, Rusty." Saul looked down at him sternly. "Don't hurt yourself. Dr Lassiter didn't mean you to hurt yourself. _Did_ you, Doctor?" The words were sharp with biting anger, but they weren't directed at him, and he was amazed to hear Dr Lassiter sounding flustered.

"No, of course not. I'm sorry, it's the signal I usually use with patients...I hadn't realised the damage to his hand was so extensive."

He'd been really bad. He could only hope that the reasons for the punishment weren't in Dr Lassiter's files.

"How about you just lay both hands on the table but don't try and force it flat," Saul suggested, talking to _him_ now. "Would that hurt?"

No. He shook his head, and he had no intention of actually _using_ the signal – he figured that there were bound to be consequences if he did – but it was nice to think that even if he was going to do something disobedient and sissyish, Saul still didn't want him hurt unnecessarily.

"Good," Saul said with a soft smile. "Remember, I'm just over here."

He wasn't totally sure if Saul was talking to him or the doctor. Maybe both.

"Alright then," Dr Lassiter said again. "The first thing I want you to do is to draw yourself."

Draw...himself? He stared down at the light yellow sheet of paper and the pack of colouring pencils that were passed across the table to him, and tried to figure out just what this was about. This wasn't like any of the things he'd been asked to do before...

Still, he'd decided to obey all instructions to the best of his ability, so he picked up a pencil in his left hand and got started. He'd got an unwilling glimpse of himself in Saul's bathroom mirror when he was stepping out of the shower that morning, so it wasn't too difficult. The only problem he really had was figuring out whether he should include the welts and bruises, but in the end he decided that accuracy was probably the name of the game, and tried to put in at least the major ones. He tried not to blush when it came time to shade in the marks over his thighs and penis, able to feel Dr Lassiter's steady gaze on him.

The end result didn't look very appealing, but then, he supposed _he_ didn't look very appealing. On the other hand, he was trying to make a good impression. Which was more important – being accurate or being enticing? He bit down hard on the inside of his mouth. He'd already automatically drawn his mouth open and his lips puffy and – hating himself for it – he picked out a red pencil and coloured in his mouth a darker red.

( _Like he was wearing the lipstick that Dr Mayhew had made him put on when he was teaching Rusty how important it was to take as much in his mouth as he could. The further down the marks were left, the more bread Rusty got, and when he finally managed to leave a red stain right the way down at the base, he got an entire cheese sandwich all to himself, and even though his throat was so bruised it felt like razor blades, he managed to choke it down. They'd covered the importance of swallowing in an earlier lesson._ )

Dr Lassiter smiled at him. "All finished?" he asked, taking the drawing and studying it closely. "Very good, thank you. Now," he said, pulling out a stack of cards with pictures on. "I wonder if you could put these in order to tell a story?"

It went on like that. Dr Lassiter seemed to have no end of meaningless tasks for him to do. After the story cards, he was asked to look at twenty or so silhouette pictures of a man and a boy touching in various ways, from a hand on the shoulder to a hug, to the man using the boy's mouth and body. Dr Lassiter asked him to separate them into good and bad touches for the boy, and since it was made clear that the boy wasn't supposed to be him it didn't take him long to figure out it was a trick question. They were all bad.

After that there were logic puzzles, and math and English worksheets like in school, and more drawings, and then Dr Lassiter gave him a couple of dolls and asked him questions about Dr Mayhew and about the institute.

"What was Dr Mayhew doing to you when Mr Bergman came in," Dr Lassiter asked. "Show me with the dolls."

The memory flooded his mind again. The pantingsweatinggrunting, the weight of the hand on his head, the damp, sticky bedsheet pressed against his face, suffocating him, the raw fresh agony from each thrust, knowing from the speed that it would be over soon, then Danny screaming... He worked the dolls like the doctor wanted and he felt unbearably filthy.

"You already know this," Saul said, an edge to his voice.

"We need to have a clear a picture as possible," Dr Lassiter said without looking round. "Now. Was any part of him inside you at this point? Show me on the doll again."

There was a strange sort of buzzing inside his head, over the shame and disgust. Anger, he identified dully. He was angry.

He dropped the dolls onto the table.

"That's okay," Dr Lassiter said earnestly. "We'll come back to that. For now, I just want to know if before that anyone had committed sexual acts with you. By that I mean, had anyone touched you here or here," He indicated on the doll. "Or put any parts of their body inside yours?"

The question wasn't even funny. They _did_ already know this. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and stared at Dr Lassiter blankly, like he didn't understand. Sometimes, stupid was the best defence.

"Someone at the institute?" Dr Lassiter pressed. "How many people?"

He continued to stare blankly.

"How many?" Dr Lassiter said again, and the question cut through him. _How many people had to use you?_ _How many people have you pleased?_

"Dr Lassiter, can I have a word please?" Saul cut in coldly.

Dr Lassiter looked exasperated, but when he looked over at Saul, he quickly stood up and they huddled in the doorway, and Rusty only heard scraps of the conversation.

" _...not a good idea..."_

" _...the police need to know...arrest..."_

He tensed. Were they talking about arresting him?

Eventually, Saul walked back into the room and knelt by his chair, looking up at him. "The police want to know who else at the Institute hurt you, Rusty," he said earnestly.

They didn't want to hurt him. Hurting him was for his own good, and if he was hurt it was his own fault. Everyone always said so.

"They want to know so they can lock them up in prison right along with Mayhew," Saul went on.

Dr Mayhew was still in prison? Rusty felt a sort of uneasy surprise. It had been three days now. He'd been sure Dr Mayhew would have explained everything by now. Talked his way out of it somehow. He imagined Dr Mayhew locked up in a bare concrete cell, in the dark, and he knew he should be taking pleasure in the image, but truthfully, it frightened him.

Saul had said they didn't want Dr Mayew doing that to any other child. Maybe he'd used someone else, someone who _wasn't_ 'born for it'. Maybe that was why everything had changed.

"If you can't tell us who, if you can even tell us how many, that would help," Saul added persuasively.

He didn't want to tell. He wasn't supposed to tell. He was so tired and he was filthy again, just sitting here he'd somehow got filthy, and they had to be able to smell it on him, and he just wanted this all to be over.

"Okay," Saul said softly, reaching out and touching his hand very, very lightly, for less than a second. "It's okay." He stood up and turned to face Dr Lassiter. "Enough," he said. "We can continue this another day if we have to."

"One more thing," Dr Lassiter said, and Rusty almost giggled, because he _really_ wasn't Columbo. He passed a sheet of light blue paper across the table to Rusty. "Draw something happy. Please."

He glanced up at Saul quickly, unconsciously checking if that was okay, but Saul was smiling.

Happy. He struggled to imagine the feeling. Something wonderful, something fleeting, something that slipped out of reach. Everything he thought of – all the good memories – _Danny_ \- it was all tainted by the knowledge that he'd never deserved it, that he ruined everything he touched.

He stared down at the paper for a long, long time. Then he picked up a white pencil and carefully, meticulously, drew over every inch of the page.

Blank. Nothingness. Safety.

"Thank you," Dr Lassiter said gravely, taking the 'drawing'. "Mr Bergman and I are going to step outside for a moment now. Please feel free to play with anything in that box."

He nodded, not meaning it.

"I'll be back soon, Rusty," Saul said, standing by his chair. He was staring at the picture Rusty had drawn, and when Rusty looked up, Saul looked so sad.

Somehow, he felt guilty.


	12. Chapter 12

Saul followed Dr Lassiter into the room next door. The other side of the one way mirror, he realised, as he saw Rusty sitting forlornly at the interview table.

That had been every bit as bad as he'd imagined. Maybe even worse. When Rusty had knelt at Lassiter's feet without even hesitating, like it was a perfectly normal thing to do, Saul had felt like screaming. And the look of utter confusion on Rusty's face when Saul had objected didn't help either. It was all too obvious that Rusty had heard the words 'psychology' and 'assessment' and immediately fallen into whatever patterns that monster had drilled into his head.

And he'd thought that was what Saul expected of him. God. He had to work harder to make himself clear. To spell out exactly what Rusty had a right to expect out of life.

"My actual report will be compiled and distributed by the end of next week," Dr Lassiter announced. "In the meantime, if Mr Bergman will just answer a few questions..."

Reluctantly Saul did so, describing Rusty's eating and sleeping habits, the flashback he'd witnessed...he talked about the crossword puzzle, the game of Monopoly, _Danny,_ trying to show that inside Rusty was a normal bright little boy.

All the while he was watching through the mirror as Rusty looked round carefully, slid down onto the floor next to Dr Lassiter's crate and – very, very slowly – reached out and lightly stroked the paw of the battered looking teddy bear perched on top. Saul's heart ached.

"And has he ever shown any signs of violence?" Lassiter asked, still scribbling on his pad.

"No, never," Saul said firmly, and only afterwards remembered Rusty pushing him. He didn't think that was what Lassiter meant though. Not only had it not hurt, Rusty hadn't been _trying_ to hurt. But he didn't want to try explaining that now. Not with Mrs Warren standing there in judgement.

"Uh huh," Lassiter nodded again. "And other than the issue with his hand just now, has he shown any tendency towards self harming behaviours?"

Saul paused. "He thought you'd asked him to hurt himself," he pointed out mildly.

Lassiter looked up. "And he obeyed. Which I'm sure you'll agree, is abnormal."

True. He sighed. "No, there hasn't been anything like that," he confirmed.

"Okay then," Lassiter nodded. "As I said, I'll distribute the report later on, but right now I feel confident that it will be in disagreement with the diagnosis reports prepared by Dr Mayhew. I've found no evidence of florid psychotic fixations, auditory hallucinations, or any active delusions. Of course, I can't speak for what Dr Mayhew found at the time."

Saul bristled at the notion that there could be _any_ weight given to Mayhew's opinion on Rusty. The very idea was ludicrous and obscene. And God, if that was what Mayhew had put in Rusty's records...obviously he'd planned to keep Rusty forever. And since no one had ever seemed to consider challenging him, if Saul hadn't happened to be there on that one particular day, or if he'd just walked past Danny like common-sense would tell him he should...he imagined Rusty still trapped in that hell hole, left rotting there for years, maybe. He couldn't bear the thought.

"So what is wrong with him?" Mrs Warren asked.

"A great deal of trauma which has resulted in elective mutism," Dr Lassiter said with a shrug. "I also found evidence of some degree of inhibited detachment disorder, but without further investigation, it's too early to give more details."

York cleared his throat. "Do you have any information on the assailant?"

"No," Dr Lassiter said soberly. "I can provide evidence to corroborate long term physical and sexual abuse, but I can't say with confidence when or where this occurred."

"We already know," Saul pointed out, but York was nodding, apparently satisfied.

"What about the emotional blunting we observed?" Mrs Warren cut in, with a face like she'd just sucked a lemon.

Lassiter shrugged again. "A combination of medication, trauma, conditioning...take your pick. He seems to be of above average intelligence - "

" - that's not backed up by his school records," Mrs Warren insisted, indicating a small stack of files on the desk.

Maybe not, but it tied in with everything Saul had seen. Not that he was exactly in a hurry to point it out, but the purse Rusty had stolen...that had been a clever bit of work.

"He was holding back in the assessment," Lassiter told her. "He read through the papers first and then answered exactly half the questions wrong. However they start with the easy ones and get progressively more difficult. He correctly answered a random distribution. I imagine he's been doing something similar with his school work."

Huh. That was something to bear in mind. He frowned suddenly, as Mrs Warren tried to argue whether or not that still made Rusty backwards, spotting something on the files on the desk. That looked like Danny's writing. Surreptitiously he reached out and quickly hid the little bundle of papers in his pocket.

"At any rate," Dr Lassiter said loudly. "The boy needs constant supervision and can be considered to have special needs for the purpose of placement." He paused, looking at Saul. "Normally such cases would be forced into institutional settings out of necessity. It's very hard to find foster carers willing and able to take them on."

"Yes, well, Mr Bergman is the emergency foster carer," Mrs Warren butted in. "Just for as long as we need the boy in easy reach of the doctors and police."

"I do need to talk to you about the placement," Julie cut in, looking at him. "It'll just take a few moments if we're done here?"

Lassiter nodded and Mrs Warren looked disgruntled.

"I want to get back to Rusty as soon as possible," Saul began. "But I have a few things to say as well."

They found another empty room and he followed her inside. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to ask you if you can keep him till Friday," Julie began immediately. "I had a placement lined up to take over, but I'm afraid that fell through."

The sheer relief and happiness he felt at the idea was unreal. What was he thinking? He wasn't a parent. He should be thinking in terms of what was best for Rusty, not getting caught up in his own feelings.

She was waiting for an answer. "That's no trouble at all," he said. "So I have him till Friday...what happens after that?"

"Once he's been seen by the doctors again, and they've taken the stitches out, we'll see about finding him somewhere longer term," she answered immediately.

"I've been thinking about that," Saul said. "I think you should be looking for foster parents for him. An older couple, maybe. Someone with a lot of experience looking after children. Someone patient. Compassionate. Someone who'll look after him."

She looked upset. "Mr Bergman...you heard what Dr Lassiter said. Finding foster parents willing to take on troubled children is not easy. And with his history, I'm afraid it's going to be very difficult indeed. No, we're better finding a safe institution for him until he's more rehabilitated. Then maybe we can - "

" - Rusty doesn't deserve to be locked up," Saul interrupted harshly.

She paused. "It's not a punishment," she said weakly.

"It's not going to help him," he answered, and he'd never been more sure of anything in his life. He took a deep breath. "Think about it at least," he pleaded. "You know what I'm saying is true. Your department has already failed him. Just give him a chance. Try. Please, I'm begging you."

With a nervous little laugh, she looked away from him. "It's really not up to me," she said. "I just assign the placements, I can't control what placements are available."

"But you can look, can't you?" he asked intensely. "You can ask. _Please._ "

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Mr Bergman. I really can't make any promises."

But maybe she was going to try...only there were no points for _trying_ here. This was Rusty's life they were talking about, and he didn't know what else he could do.

"I should get back to him," he said with a sigh. He didn't want to leave Rusty alone in a place like this for too long. Far too many potential memories.

Rusty was sitting back at the desk when he walked into the room. Saul smiled at him gently. "Ready to leave?" he asked, and Rusty was on his feet before he'd even finished talking, practically racing to the door. "You're going to be staying with me till Friday now," he told Rusty as they walked out the building. "I hope that's alright?"

Rusty just shrugged, and Saul didn't know if he was imagining the hint of relief he thought he saw.

He headed for the car, but Rusty stopped on the stairs, his face tilted towards the sky, his eyes closed serenely, like he was enjoying the sunlight on his face, breathing in deeply like the fresh air was the best taste in the world.

He'd been locked up for five months...in all that time, had they ever let him outside?

"I don't know about you, but I don't feel like going straight home," he remarked casually. "Mind if we make a quick detour?"

Rusty opened his eyes and looked at him intrigued. After a second, he slowly shook his head.

"Good," Saul smiled, mind racing as he tried to remember everything he could about this town. After a moment it came to him. He knew just the place.

The zoo was on the outskirts of town. It wasn't especially large but Saul figured it would still be fun to walk around, and he smiled to himself as he watched Rusty glance towards the entrance, a sort of uncertain intrigue in his eyes. It was January though and there was a decided chill in the air. The clothes and jacket he'd got Rusty might have been fine for walking to the car and back, but if they were going to be spending any length of time outside...well, he was experiencing the urge to make sure Rusty was well wrapped up. The product of spending his early years running around the streets of New York, when if he even poked his nose out of the front door in winter, a Jewish mother would sharply tell him to go inside and put on a scarf. Not his mother necessarily...there had been a network of older women with the same anxious expression. It takes a village to raise a child. It took more than one inexperienced con man anyway.

There was a small clothes shop a little way down the street. "Let's just stop in here for a moment," he said, and he bought them each hat, scarf and gloves, figuring that Rusty would be less likely to feel uncomfortable if it was for both of them.

He seemed half successful. Rusty took the clothes without making a fuss, but Saul could see the unhappy apprehension on his face.

"I just don't want you catching cold and getting sick," he explained, and Rusty seemed to accept that, pulling on the gloves and hat, and looping the scarf awkwardly around his neck.

Saul sighed and crouched down in front of him. "Let me," he murmured, carefully fixing the scarf so it covered him properly. "There we go," he said, and Rusty reached up and ran his fingers across the scarf as though he was surprised by how warm it was.

Saul smiled. "Now. Let's go to the zoo."

* * *

With a sense of wonder and dread, Rusty realised that Saul meant exactly what he'd said. They were going to the zoo. And he did feel the panic of gratitude of course, but the thing was this was so far outside his experience of things he was supposed to be grateful for that he really didn't know how to react. Dad, Dr Mayhew... _everyone_ always made it clear that he should be thankful for every crust of bread he didn't pay for himself. Enough food to keep himself alive was a treat he didn't deserve. How was he supposed to react to an _actual_ treat, something a normal kid with loving parents might even be grateful for? And Saul wasn't acting like he was expecting Rusty's gratitude either. He wasn't watching for Rusty's reaction with that expression of anticipation Rusty hated so much, and he didn't spell out the fact that this was an undeserved privilege – he didn't even draw Rusty's attention to the fact that the tickets cost so much. In fact, Rusty was pretty sure that Saul was trying to block his view of the admissions board.

There wasn't any way for him to refuse anyway. But he couldn't help but wonder if he was just _telling_ himself there was no way to get out of it and wasn't bothering to look too hard. Because truthfully? He didn't want to say no. Truthfully, if Saul had stood there and explained exactly what Rusty would have to do to deserve this little trip, he probably would have at least _thought_ about it.

He'd always wanted to go to the zoo. There'd been a field trip back in second grade. He'd tried so hard to get Mom and Dad to sign the permission slip. He'd managed to scrape together the five dollars picking pockets, and he'd even been stupid and desperate enough to tell Mom he didn't need the money, just the signature. Of course, she'd slapped him across the face and taken the five dollars off him, leaving him locked in the bathroom while she went off to buy booze with it. And then she'd told Dad when he got in, and he hadn't been able to go back to school until the marks faded a bit. Looking on the bright side, at least he hadn't had to sit in an empty class room while everyone else went to the zoo.

Three years later and it was even better than he'd imagined. Though right now he would have been content with anywhere outside. He'd never really been the outdoor type, and he would have thought the nights he'd spent sleeping on the streets would have cured him of any lingering fondness, but right now, outside felt like freedom. Like he could go anywhere. Do anything. Be someone... _better._

And the zoo itself was fantastic. He still couldn't walk very far or very fast, but Saul didn't seem to be in any hurry, and they sat for ages, watching the penguins, and the monkeys, and the bored looking rhino.

"You see that monkey up at the top?" Saul murmured. "He's thinking 'I've got three bits of carrot and two bits of orange. Now, I've got a couple of choices here. Either I eat it all or I start some sort of juggling act.'" Another monkey hopped up onto the branch beside the first monkey, staring at it with large eyes. Saul continued seamlessly in a higher voice. "'A juggling act? Are you mad? You know we're trying to start a serious Shakespeare company here. Street theatre is beneath us.' 'No!'" he went on, in the first monkey voice. "'Juggling and Shakespeare will combine together fantastically. It shall be a new form of art never before known to monkeykind. Imagine how much more interesting Hamlet will be if the ghost is juggling chainsaws while he talks!' 'You're mad!' 'Mad? Never! Mwahahahaha!'"

He actually laughed. Out loud.

Just the sound of it made him freeze, startled and uncertain, and he wondered at how at ease he felt.

Saul was smiling at him. "I used to love the zoo when I was a kid," he told him conversationally as they moved on. "We used to go every year in the summer. This was the Bronx Zoo, in New York; it was bigger than this one. There was a lion."

The closest this place had was a family of bobcats, although looking at them playing without a care in the world, the cubs roaming around without even glancing at their parents, like they weren't afraid, well. Rusty didn't think it could be better if there _were_ lions.

"Yeah," Saul said softly, standing next to him and watching the bobcats, a warm smile on his face. "Me neither."

He tired quickly but he did his best not to let on, not wanting to spoil Saul's evident enjoyment. Besides. He wanted to see more too, and he certainly didn't want Saul to think he was whining.

After a while, after they'd looked round the bird house, and the room full of reptiles, Saul approached one of the keepers standing at the side of a large paddock, and they had a hushed conversation that Rusty couldn't hope to overhear, no matter how he tried. After five minutes or so, Saul beckoned him over.

"Rusty, this is Alan," Saul introduced, and he tensed, suddenly wondering if the price for this treat was about to become apparent.

But Alan just beamed at him. "How would you like to help feed the animals, kiddo?" he asked genially.

Rusty blinked and looked anxiously up at Saul, uncertain if this could possibly be for real. But Saul was smiling encouragingly, and in a dream Rusty found himself standing at the edge of the paddock, a bucket of greenery in his hand, while the deer milled around him.

"Just hold the leaves in your hand and let them come to you," Alan called.

He held out his hand stiffly, and the deer nuzzled at his hand as it ate greedily.

"You can pet her if you like," Alan told him. "Just be gentle."

Hesitantly he reached out and his fingers were trembling as he stroked the deer's shoulder. She was warm and soft and alive, and she didn't recoil away from him, and she didn't know he was disgusting, and he couldn't ruin her. He closed his eyes.

"Rusty? You okay?" Saul asked anxiously.

He was better than okay.

"Good," Saul said, and Rusty could hear the smile in his voice, and he didn't understand, but he thought maybe he'd be happy hearing it forever.

After, he was too tired to walk around the zoo anymore, but Saul seemed to understand and they just sat and watched the bobcats playing some more.

He'd thought the cubs were totally independent of the parents, but now he saw that the parents were watching them all the time, and when one of the cubs took a tumble off a log, it made a distressed mewing noise and one of the bigger cats was there immediately, checking it over and picking it up, carrying it away with care and attention.

"You ready to go home?" Saul asked him softly.

He nodded, swallowing hard.

To his surprise they stopped in the gift shop on their way out. The place did seem to be designed so that there was no other way to get out – he guessed they wanted parents to feel obliged to buy something for their kids. But Saul stopped to look at post cards and Rusty took advantage of his distraction and snuck off to look at the shelves of soft toys. There were loads of them, and right in the corner on the bottom shelf, he found a group of toy bobcats. He looked round hastily, checking that no one was watching, and then he quickly knelt down and rubbed his hand across its soft head. It felt...nice. Sort of comforting, but somehow, at the same time, it made him feel empty inside. He looked over his shoulder again, needing to be absolutely certain that no one was watching, but Saul and the shop assistant both seemed preoccupied. Good.

Holding his breath, he quickly grabbed the bobcat off the shelf and held it against his chest, his arms wrapped around it, almost like a real hug. It felt even better, and he ducked his head, burying his face in its soft fur, and just for a second he felt...he didn't know. Safe? Normal? Clean? _Something,_ anyway, and it was with the greatest reluctance that he let go and started to put the bobcat back on the shelf.

Almost immediately it was taken out of his hand, and he looked up to see Saul standing there, holding the toy. He flinched back, desperately covering his head, ready to protect himself from what was going to come. He wasn't supposed to touch things, wasn't supposed to get his filth on them. He wasn't supposed to want things like he deserved them, and he certainly wasn't supposed to cringe away from his punishment like a freaky little coward. He closed his eyes, wanting to hide all the fear away. He didn't want Saul to think he was scared.

"Rusty," Saul said softly. "Rusty, I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm never going to hurt you. Open your eyes, please."

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Saul was sitting on the floor beside him, the bobcat still in his hands.

"There we go," Saul said, with a relieved smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He wasn't _scared._ He scowled instinctively, before he even thought about how stupid that was.

For a long moment, Saul just regarded him steadily. "It's okay to be scared," he said unexpectedly.

Was it? He frowned, trying to make sense of this. Did Saul want him scared? Except Saul had gone out of his way to try and _not_ make him scared. Oh, he was too tired for this, and they were sitting down in the corner of the zoo gift shop, and people were staring, and it was like Saul didn't even _care._

The bobcat was gently deposited in his arms. "Here," Saul said. "Let's go buy this."

No. He shook his head fiercely, his lips pressed tight together. No, he didn't want to owe Saul even more than he already did. It was just a stupid toy. He didn't need it...he shouldn't even _want_ it. He wasn't a little kid.

Unseen his hand tightened treacherously around the bobcats fur, soft and safe under his palm.

Saul sighed. "Think of it as a reward," he suggested persuasively. "This morning was difficult, and you were good and brave. You deserve something for that. Let me get this for you. Please."

He deserved this for being good? His eyes flickered down to the bobcat, and he struggled with the idea. Of course he was used to being threatened with rewards for good behaviour, but that was to keep him compliant, for the future not for something he'd done in the past. Not to mention, he hadn't done _anything._ Nothing he'd expect to be rewarded for.

And yet when he forced himself to look Saul in the eye, he saw nothing but truth. Saul wanted him to have this.

Against his will, he nodded.


	13. Chapter 13

Rusty had fallen asleep on the drive home, his new toy cuddled close against his chest. After he turned off the engine, Saul watched him for a long moment. He looked...peaceful.

Being very, very careful, and very, very quiet, he got out the car and walked around to the passenger door. Then he picked Rusty up and gently cradling him in his arms, he carried him upstairs.

He didn't wake.

He slept peacefully in Saul's arms all the way up the stairs, and Saul found himself looking down at him as he walked. He was obviously dead to the world; Saul couldn't even begin to imagine how tired he must be.

The fact that Rusty was sleeping had to be a good sign, didn't it? The fact that Saul could pick him up and carry him like this...it had to mean _something._ Had to mean Rusty trusted him just a little.

Rusty felt so light. Far lighter than a child should be, and so helpless right now. God. How could anyone possibly want to hurt him? All Saul wanted was to protect him. To look after him.

At least Rusty had seemed to enjoy himself this afternoon. He'd seen the brightness in his eyes when he was watching the cats and feeding the deer. And he'd actually laughed. Saul had made him laugh, and the sound had warmed his heart.

As underweight as Rusty was, carrying a nine-year-old up two flights of stairs still wasn't exactly easy. And when he got to the door, he had to work very carefully to juggle the keys without waking Rusty. But somehow he managed it with Rusty still asleep, and he got in and hesitated for a second in the hallway.

Really, he should put Rusty to bed. More than anything else, Rusty needed sleep. Except, he realised with a sigh, it seemed more likely that Rusty would be able to sleep peacefully anywhere _except_ the bed. The sofa in the living room, he decided, and he opened the door with his foot and gently laid Rusty down on the sofa, the little cat toy still cuddled in his arms.

There. He stood for a second, watching Rusty sleep, and then he carefully took off Rusty's shoes, hat, scarf and gloves, and picked the blanket up from the back of the sofa and draped it over him. In response, Rusty sighed in his sleep, and snuggled further back against the sofa, looking warm and looking comfortable.

Smiling, Saul picked up his book and settled himself down on the easy chair opposite.

It was about an hour later that there was a noise from outside, and Rusty sat up right away, looking round wildly, obviously completely confused as to how he'd got there.

Saul smiled at him, trying his best to be unaffected as Rusty gazed at him suspiciously and surreptitiously checked his clothes for signs they'd been tampered with.

"You fell asleep in the car," he explained simply. "You've only been asleep an hour or so."

Rusty nodded slowly, seeming satisfied for the moment.

"I'll get you something to eat," he said, making sure it was a statement, not an offer, but still offering a warm smile.

Another nod. Rusty's lips were pressed together tightly.

He had no real hope that Rusty would eat, but he made a cheese sandwich and a tall glass of water anyway. Hopefully at the very least, Rusty would be prepared to drink.

When he walked back into the room, Rusty was gently rubbing his hand over the head of the little cat. There was a look on his face – not quite a smile, but something peaceful at least. Saul took a deep breath. He'd done something right at least.

He laid the glass and plate down on the coffee table. Rusty pointedly ignored the food but gulped down the water greedily.

Saul waited until he was finished. "I wanted to talk to you about this morning," he said carefully.

Rusty froze; a hunted expression on his face. Yeah. Saul hadn't expected he'd want to talk. But he needed to work harder to make Rusty understand that everything that had happened – all the abuse – was wrong and it was _over_ now.

"You knelt in front of Dr Lassiter when we first came in," he stated slowly, trying to figure out how best to word this. It was difficult to know exactly what terms Rusty would comprehend. He'd seemed to understand what Dr Lassiter had been saying, even if he didn't know what it all meant. "You thought you were expected to offer him something sexually, didn't you?"

The child's expression didn't exactly change. It just seemed to tighten, somehow. Harden, maybe.

"I told you," he said gently. "That everything Mayhew did to you was wrong, do you remember? You are a child. It is always wrong for an adult to commit any sexual act against a child – it's rape - and it is never _ever_ the child's fault. I will never hurt you and I will never expect or want anything sexually from you. And I will protect you from anyone else who ever wants to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Rusty nodded quickly. But Saul could see the disbelief on his face.

"You are safe now," he said earnestly. "You deserve a chance at a normal childhood. You deserve to be safe and happy and looked after, just like any other child, and I'm going to make sure that happens. I promise."

Rusty looked away and his hand curled tightly around the cat's head, his knuckles almost white.

"This morning was about helping you," he tried. "Dr Mayhew is in prison for what he did to you, and he's going to stay there. But for that to happen, the police needed information from you, which is what Dr Lassiter was doing. And he wanted to help you, just like I do. He wanted to help you understand how you've been hurt so you can start to heal."

Still, Rusty wouldn't look at him.

The door bell rang and he sighed. "That'll be Danny," he said.

Disappointingly, after the progress he'd thought they'd made today, the evening was strained and awkward. Bad enough that Rusty refused to eat and wouldn't look at him, but when Rusty was reacting the same way to _Danny_...it was far, far worse.

All through the evening Rusty refused to respond to Danny with anything more than a nod or a shake of the head. Enough for politeness, perhaps, even enough for understanding but the secret world they shared, that Saul had caught so many glimpses of – that was missing, and plainly Danny felt its absence keenly.

Time and again as Rusty refused to meet his eyes, refused to answer him with anything more than a look of stubborn incomprehension, Saul saw the pain on Danny's face. Exhausted, hurting, bewildered – the look he'd seen on Danny's face at the social service's office. Just because Rusty's pain was so overwhelming didn't mean he was blind to Danny's. There were two children he was sworn to help here, he'd just never thought that one of them would be hurting the other.

Eventually, after Rusty actually turned his back on Danny's clumsy attempt to ask him what was wrong, Danny stood up hastily.

"I'll just take these dishes through," he muttered thickly, and vanished towards the kitchen.

Saul stood up to follow him, fixing Rusty with a long even look, which he tried to keep as non-judgemental as possible.

Danny was standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands pressed heavily down on the kitchen table, his shoulders shaking.

"Here," Saul said softly, passing him a tissue.

"I'm not crying," Danny said automatically.

Saul sighed and pulled a chair out from the kitchen table, sitting down and regarding Danny compassionately. "Seems to me you might have a good reason to be upset," he said mildly.

Danny smiled, very brief and very tired and the echo obviously wasn't lost on him. "You can't fix this," he said, sitting down, and scrubbing at his eyes with the tissue. "He just wants me safe. He thinks..." He choked slightly, on the words. "He thinks I'd be better off without him. He thinks he drags me down, like Mom and Dad...like everyone always says."

Silently, Saul reached out and gripped his shoulder lightly. "You know that's not true, Danny," he reminded him. "Give him time and he'll see that too."

But Danny didn't look convinced. "I just want to make everything better," he said quietly.

"Me too," Saul agreed.

Whatever Danny said, he wanted to fix everything.

* * *

It was later and Danny had left. His parents had come to take him away, and Rusty had struggled to harden his heart against the look of quiet desperation that Danny shot him. He knew Danny was miserable and frightened for him, and he'd seen the hurt on Danny's face as Rusty rejected him. This was the best thing for Danny, though, and that was what mattered.

He tried to ignore the way Saul looked at him. When Danny had been upset, Saul had looked at him and he'd seen the disappointment and for some reason it had hurt.

It still hurt now.

"Danny is worried about you," Saul said softly.

Rusty gazed down at his hands. He didn't want Danny unhappy. Apparently Saul didn't either.

"I found these today," Saul said, carefully laying a bundle of letters down on the coffee table in front of him. "They're yours, I believe. I didn't read them," he added hastily.

He looked down slowly, recognising Danny's handwriting. Letters. Letters Danny had written, addressed to him.

"He left them with the social workers," Saul told him. "Apparently they didn't feel the need to pass them on."

Letters were a privilege. Maybe if he'd been a bit better behaved, if he hadn't struggled and bit, he would have got to read these before.

Only Saul was giving them to him now. ( _Like everything else Saul had given him that he didn't deserve._ )

He reached out and traced a finger down the paper, wondering. There was a lot of them. Even for five months. Danny hadn't given up. Even when he hadn't been getting any kind of response, Danny hadn't given up.

( _Why did he think it would be any different now ?_ )

"I'll let you have some privacy," Saul murmured, and Rusty hardly heard.

He picked out a letter at random.

_25th December 1975_

_Dear Rusty,_

_It's raining today. Mom and Dad have been arguing since last night. I don't know what it's about. I guess it doesn't much matter. I've been staying upstairs, out of the way, and watching the raindrops run down the window._

_Do you remember when we spent all afternoon watching that on the big windows at school? You found some ink and said we could make the raindrops coloured to make it more interesting, and then we let the other boys play and started taking bets. Of course, when the teacher in the classroom downstairs finally noticed the ink streaks down her window, it stopped being quite so fun. For a while, anyway, until you told her it was birds making a nest with felt tips, and she believed you. I never told you how much I love the way you lie. When it's ridiculous, and you get that look in your eyes, like life is just one brilliant joke, and we're going to come out on top, somehow, always._

_I miss you._

_Somehow, I thought I'd hear from you at Christmas. I don't mean like some sappy Christmas movie miracle – I guess I just thought that maybe they'd let you phone, or write, or_ something. _I even wondered if maybe you get home for Christmas. I went round to your place yesterday. I know, I know. God, I can just picture the look you're giving me right now. Wish you were actually here to give it. Nothing happened. Your Dad was in. He answered. As usual, I didn't see your Mom. I asked him if you were in or if he knew where you were. He just swore at me. Guess he's getting pretty tired of being asked that. Yeah, I know. Believe me, I was ready run, and I made sure it wasn't too late so he wouldn't be too drunk. I just thought that if there was the smallest chance you might be there – I couldn't let it go._

_I hate him. I hate him so much. When I think of the last time I saw you, I want to kill him. Wherever you are, it has to be better than that, right?_

_I hope it is. I want to imagine you somewhere right now with a big Christmas tree, and decorations, and presents, and a Christmas ham. Somewhere with people laughing and smiling and having fun. That's what I want. But if that was it, you'd have called, wouldn't you? You'd have called or written or_ some _thing. That's why I'm still looking. I'm never going to give up, Rusty. I want you to know that. Sooner or later they have to tell me where you are, right? They'll tell me, and I'll find you, and we'll be together and -_

_Sorry. Mom came up the stairs. She's angry cos I wouldn't go to Mrs Darcey's Christmas party. Like there's anything there that matters._

_She called me a spoilt ungrateful little brat. All I could think of was the first time she let loose like that when you were there. The look on your face made it all worthwhile, somehow. No one ever looks at me like that anymore. All the teachers at school are angry with me, and none of the other kids are really talking to me. I don't know how to explain it. It's like it's getting harder not to hear the stuff Mom says. Even when she's not there._

_I don't know how long I can still be myself without you here._

_I hope you get this letter. I hope you've got all my letters, even if you can't respond, for whatever reason. I'll be right here, waiting for you. Most of all, I hope you're safe and well and happy._

_I miss you, Rus'._

_Danny_

The letter felt fragile in his hands but he couldn't let go of it. Oh, Danny. For a moment he thought he might cry.

He could read the loneliness and misery in every word. Danny had missed him. Danny hadn't just moved on with his life, hell, Danny didn't seem to have any idea _how_ to move on with his life. He'd just kept right on looking for Rusty. He'd even gone to see Dad, and he _knew_ how dangerous that was – even now, Rusty wanted to rush over and make sure he was okay, scold him for it.

The blood was pounding through his head. He felt...he _felt._ And he hated it, and he couldn't let it go.

The person in this letter, the person Danny had missed...that person deserved more than being locked up and forgotten about, being beaten and used. Danny saw a person who was bright and fun and alive, and maybe Rusty wasn't that person but he _wanted_ to be. The person Danny saw mattered. He wanted to give Danny that back, but he didn't know how. He didn't deserve Danny. He didn't deserve to be the person Danny cared about. That person was disappeared.

His finger brushed over the letter. He could imagine Danny writing it. Could picture Danny sitting in his room, trying to ignore the sound of his parents fighting downstairs, tired and lonely and unsure of himself and just wanting...just wanting his friend back.

And Rusty had shoved him away like all that didn't matter. He felt like he was condemning Danny to a life with no surprises, with no _life._

He closed his eyes. This was another mistake he'd made. Another thing he was guilty of. No more. He didn't deserve what Danny was offering, for so many reasons, but he _wanted_ to deserve it. He wanted to be worthy. He wanted Danny not to be alone.

He had to learn to live again. For Danny.

With trembling hands he quickly gathered up the letters, pulled Ragnarok the bobcat out from under the cushion in the sofa where he'd hidden him when the doorbell rang, and rushed out of the room. He headed to the room he'd been sleeping in, quickly concealing the letters under the bed. He'd read them later, slowly, when there was a chance they wouldn't completely overwhelm him. In the meantime he wanted them safe and hidden.

And that was just a little bit ridiculous. Saul had _given_ him the letters. If he wanted to read them, he could have already. But he said he hadn't and somehow, for some reason, Rusty believed him.

He scrubbed his hand across his face, absently noting that he needed another shower. This was getting difficult to deal with.

It was easy to dismiss the things Saul gave him. The basics. Food, medicine, a bed, apparently unrestricted access to the bathroom and hot water – even the new clothes. Wasn't that he wasn't grateful, but all of that had been used to control him in the past and there was no rational reason to assume this was any different.

But Saul hadn't hit him or used him, and while he still figured it was only a matter of time – hell, even if Saul somehow meant every word he said, eventually Rusty would wear on him enough he'd have no choice – that still didn't change the way he felt about it. Saul hadn't hurt him. Not even when even he'd have to admit he deserved it.

And that still wasn't the problem. It wasn't even the things Saul had given him that he really didn't have to. The trip to the zoo...Ragnarok...even the scarf and gloves, like he hadn't been so much colder, so many times. He remembered Mom noticing he was cold and bundling him up with newspaper, the rough touch a contrast to the gentleness with which Saul had fixed his scarf. That was stuff that no adult had done for him before, and there was just no need for it.

The gentleness. That was the problem. It was the way Saul looked at him, the way Saul talked to him – like he was a regular person, like he _mattered._ It hurt, but somehow it almost hurt in a good way. ( _Like living._ ) He couldn't help liking Saul.

Maybe _that_ was Saul's ulterior motive. Maybe he wanted to make it so Rusty wanted to please him. Which he did. Yes. That made sense. Saul just wanted him to be eager and compliant and he was choosing to win him over with kindness instead of the threat of punishment. After all, Dr Mayhew was often kind. Like when he'd brought Rusty water to wash with, or found him a little extra food, or rubbed ointment inside him where it hurt.

That was kindness, after all. This was just more of the same.

Except...

Except even when Dr Mayhew was being kind he still had that look in his eyes that Rusty hated. Possessive, curious and contemptuous, all at once. There was nothing of the way Saul looked at him there.

He hugged Ragnarok tightly. That didn't mean it was real. It _wasn't_ real. And it didn't matter anyway, sooner or later he would screw up and Saul would run out of kindness.

But it did make him think. Maybe it wouldn't be so very bad, when it happened. He couldn't imagine Saul hurting him for the sake of hurting him. Maybe it really would be better to just get it over with. Maybe he could learn to...not _like_ it, but at least accept it. Everything Saul was giving him...wasn't like he could complain it wasn't fair.

He could feel something slipping away and he closed his eyes and tried to focus on life the way Danny saw it. Tried to tell himself that he didn't _owe_ this, because Danny cared about him and he deserved better. But he couldn't believe it, no matter how he tried.

Maybe if he was a better kid, he'd believe it. Maybe that was the problem. Because whatever the reasons, Saul had been good to him and he hadn't done anything to earn it. Every step of the way he'd been rude and ungrateful. He'd made Saul unhappy, he knew, even without meaning to. He remembered the look on Saul's face when he'd seen the picture Rusty had drawn. The blankness.

_(That wasn't what Danny would want for him either...)_

Guilt ate away at him and he forced himself to calm down. Okay. He wasn't going to rush off and beg Saul to use him, but still he wanted to do _something._ Something that showed Saul he wasn't completely oblivious to all the care and attention.

Biting his lip, he wondered... It sounded stupid, but it was about the only idea he had and, mind made up, he retrieved the paper and pencil he'd stolen from Dr Lassiter and sat down and began to draw. Dr Lassiter had asked him to draw something happy, and Saul hadn't liked his answer, so here was a _different_ answer. He just hoped Saul understood.

When he was finished he headed through to the living room, hesitating in the doorway, not sure if he should knock. Then he caught sight of Saul, asleep in the chair, his book, slipping from his hand.

For some reason, he smiled. Ah, well. The picture could wait. Not like he was _really_ expecting Saul to be interested, anyway. And this was surely a good time to go and steal something out of the fridge – he'd noticed Saul putting the leftovers from dinner there this evening and he was getting hungry.

The slices of pizza looked delicious and inviting, and behind that he could see cheese, and cooked chicken, and a carton of chocolate milk – lots of things he could steal just a little of and no one would be any the wiser. Mouth watering, he reached out ready to eat his fill.

Then he stopped, wondering what the hell he was doing?

He liked Saul. He'd just got through accepting that he liked Saul. And now he was planning on stealing from him? That was just _wrong._ Disgusted with himself, he carefully closed the fridge door. He didn't steal from people he liked. No matter how bad things got, he wasn't a mindless animal. There was right and wrong. Danny had taught him that. That was part of being alive.

Only...only he liked Saul enough not to steal from him, but he didn't trust him enough to accept what he was offering. So where did that leave him?

* * *

Saul woke up with a start and blinked wildly around the room. He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

Rusty was sitting on the floor beside the sofa, the newspaper spread out over his feet, the toy cat sitting at his side, his hand resting on it, his thumb stroking repetitively over its fur. He was intent on whatever he was reading and he looked...contented.

Saul smiled to himself; just the fact that Rusty had chosen to sit in the same room as him was encouraging.

He cleared his throat softly and Rusty jumped, looking up at him immediately, a certain amount of panic in his eyes, obviously trying to figure out if Saul was a threat.

He smiled patiently. "It's getting late," he commented, glancing at the clock. "I think it's time you went to bed, don't you?"

Rusty tilted his head to one side uncertainly then, as if he'd made his mind up about something, he pulled a piece of paper out from under the sofa and carried it over. He hovered by the side of Saul's chair, holding out the paper with a sort of uncharacteristic shyness.

"What's this?" he asked with a smile. He took the paper out of Rusty's hand. "Oh!"

He found himself staring down at a pencil drawing of a group cats standing on a rock. The bobcats from the zoo, he guessed. Rusty carefully wasn't looking at him, but he could sense the anxiety coming off the child. This meant something, and he remembered Dr Lassiter's last instruction. Draw something happy, and at the time Rusty had drawn nothing. And here...here was something else. Something else that had made Rusty happy? There was a lump in his throat.

"Thank you," he said softly, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the picture. Rusty had drawn this for him. It was the best present he'd ever received. "It's wonderful. I'll treasure it."

He was smiling like he was never going to stop, but Rusty's brow was furrowed and he was looking at Saul self-consciously, like this wasn't the reaction he'd expected. There was something else there as well, and Rusty looked from the picture and back to him quickly, like he was trying to tell him something.

Oh. "You're very welcome," he said gently, looking Rusty straight in the eye. "I want you happy as well as safe, Rusty. I want you to have a good life."

For a second Rusty stared at him. Then he carefully held up his hand, showing five fingers.

Five. Saul frowned, not understanding. Five what? "I'm sorry," he said helplessly. "I don't..."

Rusty ducked his head, his cheeks reddening, and he quickly made an obscene gesture with his hands, and then held up five fingers again.

Five. The last question he'd asked Rusty at the assessment. The one Rusty had refused to answer. Five men at the institute had abused Rusty. Five men had taken this child and...He took a deep breath and buried the anger for the moment. "Thank you," he said carefully. "For telling me. That was very brave."

Rusty shifted uncomfortably.

"It was," Saul said intently. "They hurt you, Rusty. I can't even imagine..." He swallowed hard. "None of them are ever getting near you again, Rusty, I swear it. You're safe from now on." He would make sure of it. No matter what it took.

Looking away from him, Rusty shrugged.

He reached out and touched Rusty's shoulder, just for a second. "You're safe," he repeated. "Come on. It's time for bed."

Once again, he waited while Rusty got cleaned up and he watched while Rusty got into bed before he came over and tucked the blankets around him. Tonight though, he hesitated. He didn't want Rusty going to bed thinking about the five – he wanted Rusty to sleep peacefully, after all. Instead, he pulled the chair over next to the bed.

Rusty's eyes were wide and worried. He smiled reassuringly, remembering stories he'd read and heard when he was a kid.

"You ever hear," he began. "The story of how the camel got his hump?"

He didn't remember the story precisely, but that didn't exactly matter. It wasn't about the words so much, after all. It was about what was interesting, and what was unexpected, and Rusty smiled sleepily as Saul performed the "Humphs" with all the indignant energy he remembered from when he'd been young, and by the time he got to the part with the genie, Rusty's eyes had fluttered shut and he was asleep.

Silently, Saul crept out of the room. There. Hopefully Rusty would sleep till morning.

Before he went to bed himself, he carefully taped the picture Rusty had drawn him to the fridge.


	14. Chapter 14

He could hardly believe he'd slept. Saul had been right _there_ for pity's sake. And Danny...he shuddered to think about what could have happened. He hadn't even woken up when Saul came back in, and that frightened him.

It was getting harder and harder to stay awake. He was so tired all the time. Tired and weak, and he knew that was probably cos of his injuries, and a lack of food, but the knowledge didn't exactly make it any safer.

Bad stuff happened while you slept. Terrible, awful stuff, and he didn't want to be vulnerable like that. Not ever, if he could help it.

Chewing on his lip, he edged back on the sofa, watching Saul carefully out of the corner of his eye. Danny was gone now and it was just them and the apartment suddenly felt much colder and Saul suddenly looked much more threatening. He didn't know what was going to happen now, but he was afraid.

Danny had gone to the cops and the thought made him feel numb and sick inside. He didn't think...he _thought_ Danny would be safe. Surely the cops wouldn't hurt Danny; Danny was good and special and _real_ and he didn't deserve to be hurt. But he was gonna be talking to them about Rusty, and he'd think that he was helping, that he was going to somehow get Dr Mayhew in trouble, but all Rusty could think about was Danny telling them what he'd...what he'd seen Rusty doing...and this time they were going to lock him up and throw away the key.

He pulled anxiously on his shirt, squirming slightly on his seat. The bath had been hot, and he'd scrubbed and scrubbed, but he still didn't feel _clean._ And he could still smell the filth and sweat on himself. It was like every time someone used him they left behind a special sort of dirt. Something that never washed off.

"There's some clothes in the bedroom if you want to get changed into something fresh," Saul told him, watching him keenly. "You've been wearing them since last night. It might make you feel better."

Clothes? He bit his lip. He didn't have any clothes of his own, so where had they come from? The unease crept up on him.

"Why don't you go get changed and I'll get some lunch sorted?" Saul suggested.

He could take a look while Saul was eating. That would make it less likely that Saul would think to give him anything. And he had to find out what Saul was talking about.

He limped through to the room. Sure enough there were clothes in the drawers and wardrobe. _New_ clothes. Brand new. And loads of them.

( _No, no, no, no, nononono.)_

His hands were clamped tight over his mouth and he bit down hard on the heel of his hand, desperately trying to manage the panic. This was wrong. This was very, very, very wrong.

He hadn't done anything to earn this. He didn't _deserve_ this. And Saul had already bought them. So he couldn't just say no...maybe if he just refused to wear them Saul would take them back? But then he'd be openly bad, and that would mean Saul would have to punish him, and he didn't know if he could physically take that right now. He already hurt so much and everything was strange and confusing...he felt so _tired._ It was as if he had nothing left.

He didn't want this. Why couldn't Saul have just left him alone? Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone? He just wanted to find someplace to hide. To not think, to not feel, to not remember...to not _exist._

Staring wildly around the room he caught sight of a pair of sneakers left lying neatly in front of the dresser. They were new and they were fancy and they looked his size. They even had a brand name on the side. Shoes were expensive. Shoes were always expensive, and these ones even had velcro on them. Saul must have picked them out especially for him, and there was a sledgehammer pounding against his ribcage, and he couldn't breathe, and the walls were closing in around him, and he couldn't _breathe._

With a choked gasp, he flung himself under the bed and lay huddled and shaking against the wall. The only sound was his own breathing, fast and ragged, and still it didn't feel like he was getting enough air, like he was right on the edge of suffocation.

He closed his eyes tightly and imagined Danny there, imagined Danny's voice soothing him, imagined Danny's arms around him, Danny's hand on his face and -

No!

Savagely, he banged his head hard on the wooden floor, wincing more at the noise than the pain. No. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't like being touched. And he didn't deserve new shoes or clothes, and he certainly didn't deserve Danny.

Fists clenched, he struggled, trying to get his breathing under control. The room was strange and unfamiliar, and even hiding under the bed wasn't safe like hiding under _his_ bed was.

_His_ bed. Where he could hide, where there was no confusing kindnesses. He tried to fill his mind with the sights, sounds, smells, like he was hiding under his own bed, but the problem with that was he could imagine Dad's footsteps coming closer, and he could taste the bitter panic at the back of his throat, and he remembered again the nightmaredaydream from last night, and for a second he thought he might throw up.

( _No throwing up. Not ever again._ )

His nails tore into his palms as he fought for air, fought to ease the burning in his lungs. He just wanted somewhere safe to hide, if only in his head. Just somewhere familiar. With an effort, he thought about his cell in the basement. Thought about the rough walls and floor, the overwhelming stench that didn't fade, even when Stuart hosed the place down. It was awful, but this was his head, and he put the bolt on the inside. Keeping him safe from the outside world, anyone who would hurt him or use him.

He hid himself inside his head, and as he slowly felt himself calm down, he tried not to wonder how it was that he'd lost the ability to imagine anything _nice._

Even as he felt like he could breathe again, he still felt sick, shaking and completely incapable of moving.

The knock on the door nearly sent him spiralling back into panic. Worse, when the door was slowly opened.

"Rusty?" Saul's voice rang out in the silence.

He pressed his fists tightly against his mouth, trying not to make a sound, every breath choked and shallow. All these clothes...and he'd gone and hid like a baby...he was going to have to...Saul was going to make him...

Saul's feet stopped a couple of feet from the bed. He wasn't wearing shoes, and one of his socks had a hole in the toe, and Rusty was seized with an urge to giggle, even as he was drowning in unthinking panic.

He shrank back as Saul bent down and looked straight at him, and he closed his eyes hurriedly, waiting for the moment when Saul reached down and dragged him out, waiting for the anger and the rough hands, and the pain, and he was shaking.

"Rusty?" Saul's voice was soft and uncertain. "Rusty, can you hear me?"

He bit his lip hard, worrying at it until he tasted blood.

"Rusty if you can hear me, let me know. Please."

After a moment, reluctantly, he lightly rapped his hand on the floor twice.

"Well done," Saul said, sounding relieved, and was he really being praised for something that should be so simple? "Do you think you can come out of there?"

The thought made him shiver and draw back further. He wasn't rushing to be used and he certainly wasn't rushing to be punished. He'd done too much wrong, and Saul had forced him to be too grateful and nothing outside was _safe._

"You're safe here," Saul went on, contradicting every truth Rusty knew. "I won't hurt you."

He shook his head automatically, almost angry at the lie. He wasn't good. He wasn't obedient. He deserved to be punished, he understood that, accepted that, but that didn't mean it didn't _hurt._

Swallowing hard, he thought of everything he'd done wrong. Saul _had_ to hurt him. It was...necessary. But just because it was for his own good, just because it would, somehow, make him _better_ didn't mean he found it easy to submit. Dr Mayhew said it was because he was wilful. Too stubborn. And that meant Dr Mayhew had no choice but to use the cane. He pressed his hands against his mouth hard, ruthlessly choking back even the smallest sound. Did Saul have a cane?

_The cold tile rough against his palms. The ache in his back as he stood, arched and braced and still. Counting the little specks of blood ground into the concrete, wondering how many were his. The taste of blood filling his mouth where he'd bitten his tongue too hard, and knowing he'd regret that when it came time to use his mouth. The feeling of cold air swishing across his back in the split second before the pain came. The pain itself, each lash a trail of fire across his back and shoulders. The heavy smell of blood rising as Dr Mayhew carefully worked his way down Rusty's body, each stroke laid out in a pattern, right down to his calves and feet. The soft little sighs and tuts of disappointment as Dr Mayhew worked...he didn't like punishing Rusty, he said, and Rusty felt lost and ashamed, even while the pain threatened to engulf him, leaving him weak and trembling with agony and the effort to stay on his feet. It_ hurt _. It hurt and he was sorry, and he'd try to be in good future, if only it stopped..._

There was a voice and he slowly fought his way free of the memory, focusing on the soft and the gentle.

_Saul,_ he suddenly realised. He was still under the bed. Stupid. He punched himself urgently. He was so stupid. He couldn't risk indulging himself, wallowing in the past.

"Rusty?" Saul asked softly. "Are you okay?"

He rapped on the floor again with an effort, figuring Saul could interpret it however he wanted.

"If I back off a little, do you think you could calm down enough to come out of there?"

_Could_ he? Did he even want to? If he went out there, Saul would punish him. But if he stayed here, Saul would get angry and drag him out and then punish him. Maybe hiding under the bed wasn't such a great long term strategy anyway.

As he watched, Saul's feet moved out of view.

"I'm just outside the door," Saul called through to him.

He closed his eyes and resolutely turned to the wall. He didn't know what was going on, but now that Saul was further away, he felt safer. He lay still and gradually, as nothing bad happened, the shaking subsided.

It must have been over an hour later that he crawled out from under the bed, feeling ridiculous and uncertain. True to his word, Saul was sitting on the floor in the hallway, just outside the bedroom door. He stood up when he saw Rusty, slowly enough that Rusty only shrank back, not running. Saul had been waiting for him...he was ready to be punished, but even so, when Saul frowned sharply and reached out towards his head ( _too quickly, too suddenly)_ he flinched back, flinging his arm up in front of his face.

There was a long moment of silence and he cursed himself for showing defiance ( _weakness_ ) and cautiously he looked up to see how angry Saul was.

But Saul was looking at him sadly and he quickly dropped his eyes to the floor.

"It looks like you bumped your head," Saul said, slowly reaching out his hand, hovering near Rusty's forehead, and Rusty tensed up, ready for the blow. "Did you fall?"

He nodded immediately, leaping on the safe answer.

"Was that what scared you?" Saul went on.

He shrugged uneasily, and couldn't quite stop himself glancing at the shoes, still lying by the door.

"The clothes," Saul said with a sigh. "Rusty, you need things to wear. I'm your guardian right now. It's my duty to provide for you."

Duty. But duty took its toll, and Rusty was good stress relief.

He nodded, his head still ducked.

Saul sighed again. "Come on. Why don't you get washed up and we'll get a cold compress on that?" He crossed to the dresser and pulled out a selection of clothes. "Here," he said gruffly. "I think these should fit you. Why don't you get changed?"

He wasn't getting a choice. Hesitantly, he looked at Saul, wondering if Saul meant for him to get undressed here, like some game of pretend, where they'd both play act that they didn't know what was going on. It was the sort of game that Lucas might like, or even Dr Mayhew. It was the sort of game that made Rusty feel like he was _wrong_ inside. Like there was a massive hole in his chest that was slowly being filled up with something filthy, something stunted, something dead.

Still, he knew his part, and slowly he reached up to his shirt button, casting an obvious reluctant look towards the bathroom as he did so. Lucas had asked him to look at him 'seductively' at this sort of point in the proceedings, and Rusty hoped that wasn't what Saul was expecting. Truth was, even if he was willing, he wasn't sure how. But Dr Mayhew had once said he liked Rusty's awkward reluctance when they played. He'd said it was endearing. Cute. Though that only applied as long as Rusty still eventually did what he was told.

"I'll let you have your privacy," Saul said hurriedly, moving for the door. "Or you can get changed in the bathroom, if you'd prefer."

The bathroom door had a lock. But maybe it was a trick? Maybe Saul would grab him as he went past?

But he didn't, and Rusty stood in the bathroom, staring at the door and wondered. Getting cleaned up _before_ he got punished seemed backwards. Not that he was going to turn down a chance for a wash, and even as he thought he was filling the basin with cold water and stripping off his shirt. _He_ could smell the filth on himself, maybe Saul could too. Maybe Saul found him too disgusting to touch even for punishment.

This waiting was killing him. That was the best thing about Dad, when Rusty was bad he just got hit and that was an end to it. This was torture. He _knew_ he'd done wrong, he knew Saul was going to have to hurt him, and he just wished he could get it over with. Saul was being too nice and he didn't feel safe.

And he hadn't even had the sense to stick the pancake and cookies somewhere hidden in the room, he realised suddenly. He was so _stupid._ Grimly he transferred the food to the pocket of the new slacks Saul had picked out for him. They were smart. Sort of thing Danny would wear if his parents were taking him out, and he shuddered at the comparison.

Alright. He scrubbed at his face and neck one last time, hoping it would make the difference, then dressed and clean as he could get, he walked out, the dirty laundry clutched in his hands.

"The laundry basket is in that cupboard there," Saul directed him with a nod, and Rusty slipped past him, careful not to get too close, and dropped it where he was told. "Here," Saul added, passing him a tall glass of water.

He took it automatically, staring at it anxiously for a moment. Was this the punishment Saul had in mind? He remembered Brent Dalmuir, strapped down to the chair in the dining room in front of everyone for wasting water. Five pitchers of water later, and Rusty had sworn he'd never do _anything_ to deserve that. He could remember the uneasy laughter and the cruel jeering. The way Brent had squirmed desperately, his face red...Rusty had decided that he'd rather be beaten any day.

His knuckles were pulled white around the glass.

"Sip it slowly," Saul advised him anxiously, looking for all the world as though Rusty had done nothing wrong.

Right. He sipped at the water and it did help.

"Okay then," Saul said, smiling briefly. "Let's go get some lunch."

He found himself sitting at the kitchen, table, holding a cool damp cloth against the bump on his forehead, staring down at a roast beef sandwich, a bowl of apple slices and grapes, and a glass of chocolate milk. He swallowed hard, shaking his head in denial, but Saul wasn't looking at him.

"Before I forget," he said slowly, almost casually as he turned back around. "You need to take these."

He looked over to see a collection of pills at the bottom of a cup.

More medicine to make him better. His mouth twisted.

"You were supposed to get these this morning," Saul went on. "But what with everything...it slipped my mind. I'm sorry."

He continued to look stonily into the cup. He might need the pills, but he hated them. They made it harder to think. They made it harder to hide his reactions. And they made it harder to feel, and maybe that was worst of all, because sometimes he found himself craving that, the nothingness was...soothing. Welcoming.

"Hopefully soon you won't have to take any pills at all," Saul went on.

That was unexpected. He looked up at Saul sharply.

Saul reached over and tilted the cup so they could both see it. "That's a high concentration vitamin C pill, that's vitamin D and that's iron and folic acid. You need them to try and get your system back to normal since...you haven't been eating enough. That's an antibiotic. You need to take two of them a day for the next ten days – a few of your injuries are infected and they should stop you getting sick. These are both painkillers. They're relatively mild, and they're non drowsy. So they shouldn't knock you out or anything, but if you find that you're still in pain, they gave me something stronger for you if you need it."

Huh. He tried to figure out if Saul was lying, but he couldn't see any sign of it. All that sounded...reasonable. Like this _was_ all to help it.

For a moment he wondered, but then common sense reasserted itself. It was so much medicine, and medicine was expensive, and he was going to need to pay Saul back, and the doctors from yesterday too.

He looked at the last two pills.

Saul sighed. "That's a mood stabiliser and an anti-depressant. They're the ones that...they're the ones that Mayhew had you on. The doctors... _we_...don't think you actually need to be on them, but because of your current condition, the doctors say it might be dangerous if you stop taking them right away."

His current condition?

"You're injured and underweight," Saul told him bluntly, as if he'd caught Rusty's confusion. "And even though you don't need the medicine, your body is used to having it, so if you stop too quickly it could make you very sick. Do you understand?"

That actually made sense to him. When Mom stopped taking her...'medicine'...she'd get sick. This sounded like the same thing. But it also sounded like Saul was serious about letting him stop taking them, in the long run, and that was something he couldn't understand. Dr Mayhew had said the medicine was for his own good. He'd said Rusty _needed_ it, and he'd hinted darkly that without it Rusty would get sick and lose his mind. Like Mom, he figured, and he'd shuddered at the thought, imagining himself that lost, that...dead inside...not knowing or caring where he was, who he was, not remembering Danny...And maybe he'd never felt he was getting sick like that, but would he actually be able to tell?

The point was, as much as he hated the way the medicine made him feel, there was a _reason_ he was grateful for it, and now Saul said he didn't need it, and he wasn't sure whether Saul really thought he didn't need it, or if he just didn't deserve it. Like Dr Mayhew, telling him what he could do to earn the bread so long ago, and he knew that if things got bad enough he'd crumble.

But right now, things weren't that bad. Saul said he'd still get medicine for the next few weeks, until he could quit without getting sick and needing to be looked after, and he wasn't starving and he even had some food squirrelled away. Right now, he had every intention of resisting as long as he could.

Expressionless, he picked up the cup of pills and swallowed them, washing them down with the glass of water.

"Good boy," Saul said, sounding relieved, and he tensed at the unexpected praise, not sure what was behind it. "Now eat your lunch," Saul went on. "And then we'll go through to the lounge and talk."

He shook his head quickly, not looking anywhere near the food.

Saul frowned slightly, and he forced himself not to shrink back. "I didn't mean I was going to make you talk," he clarified, and Rusty blinked. "Not what you meant?" Saul said, the frown deepening. "I was just going to tell you what the doctor said. You're not in trouble of any kind."

That was...unexpected, but he was beginning to suspect that Saul was saving all his punishments up for later. And anyway, that hadn't been what he was saying no to.

He could see the frustration building in Saul. Not like he wasn't used to _that._ When he didn't talk, people got angry. Lightly, he touched the very edge of the plate with one finger and pushed it away, shaking his head.

"You don't like the sandwich?" Saul asked slowly, his eyes narrowed. "Or you're not hungry?"

He nodded eagerly at that, seizing the easy excuse. He _was_ slightly hungry, but nowhere near the level he was used to. He definitely didn't need to eat.

"I know you're not used to eating regularly," Saul said coaxingly. "But you need to _try._ You're underweight, if you don't eat, you'll get sick."

He wasn't gonna fall for it. He wasn't even gonna _listen_ to the gentle concern in Saul's voice, and he didn't know why he was thinking of the pain in Danny's eyes, when he shared his lunch with him all that time ago.

He shook his head stubbornly, not meeting Saul's eyes. No food, no gratitude, no letting himself be used. He couldn't control anything else, but he could draw a line here.

"Just try and eat a little," Saul urged. "Eat the fruit at least. It's good for you."

The echo hit him unexpectedly hard and he shivered. That was what Dr Mayhew said. Danny had asked him last night when he'd last eaten and he'd remembered. A bowl of strawberries dipped in creamy yoghurt. Dr Mayhew had been kindly sharing some of his own lunch with him, as Rusty had entertained him last time, finally managing to play the pony game properly. He'd been naked, of course, curled up on Dr Mayhew's lap, his hands clasped obediently behind his back, pulled in cuddled against Dr Mayhew's chest, his legs wrapped around Dr Mayhew's waist while Dr Mayhew slowly handfed him the strawberries, stroking his hair with his other hand and telling him that the fruit was good for him, that he should eat it all up, because he – Dr Mayhew – was being so generous, and if anyone knew he was treating Rusty so nicely he'd be in trouble. His fingers lingered on Rusty's lips. The strawberries were sickly sweet and the yoghurt was thick and fell in his mouth in creamy globs that made it hard to swallow.

"Wrap your arms around me," Dr Mayhew instructed him, and he obeyed quickly, lying so close against him now that he could feel Dr Mayhew's heart beat through his shirt. "There now," Dr Mayhew murmured, holding Rusty's head against his shoulder. "Boys like you don't get cuddled enough. You like this, don't you?"

He'd learned that the lie was always the right answer, so he nodded, every inch of his body awash with revulsion, trying so hard not to shudder, because they were so close, and Dr Mayhew would feel it, and Rusty would be punished for his ingratitude.

Finally, Dr Mayhew gently pushed him back up, pressing him lightly further onto his lap. "Open your mouth," he said, and when Rusty did he placed a small strawberry on his tongue. "Now, just hold that right there," he murmured, and a moment later his hands were all over Rusty's body, rubbing and tickling, pinching and tweaking, and he tried to stay still, but then Dr Mayhew's mouth was pressed against his, his tongue demanding entrance, and there were thick ropes of bitter yoghurt dripping down his throat, and the strawberry was crushed against the roof of his mouth, the pulp everywhere, and he couldn't help but squirm and struggle, and the more he moved, the harder Dr Mayhew got.

"That's my special boy," Dr Mayhew breathed, his face flushed pink. "You taste so sweet. You _do_ like this, don't you?"

He was going to be sick, he realised with sudden horror. No. _Please_ no. He couldn't be. That hadn't happened in so long...he'd got so good at suppressing his gag reflex, no matter what.

But not this time, and he scrambled off Dr Mayhew's lap, his hands defiantly pressed against his mouth, and he fell forwards, crawling frantically over to the corner to pitifully retch up everything in his stomach.

When he was finished, he looked up to see Dr Mayhew standing over him, a look of severe disappointment on his face. "Really, now," he began sharply. "Is that any way to behave?"

Limbs trembling with exhaustion, Rusty hung his head, not able to even try and hide his shame.

"Just look at all that food you've wasted, you ungrateful, filthy little beast," Dr Mayhew went on, his voice deceptively mild and his eyes narrowed.

He shuffled round to face Dr Mayhew, his hands flat on the floor, his head bowed, trying to show contrition.

He didn't look up even when he heard Dr Mayhew moving around. A couple of moments later a metal spoon clattered to the floor in front of him.

"Eat it," Dr Mayhew said softly.

He was put in mind of a slice of pizza stamped into the ground on a summers day. This was so much worse.

"I'm not going to stand for you wasting food," Dr Mayhew warned. "Eat it."

Rusty looked over at the puddle of bile, half-digested mushy fruit, and stringy white lumps. Slowly he shook his head.

Dr Mayhew took a step forwards towering over him. "If I document that you're refusing food, I can get Stuart and James to bring down the naso gastric feeding set and make you eat it that way. You've seen that before, haven't you? Remember little Lindy?"

He did remember. She'd screamed and cried and bled, and then she'd gone very, very quiet.

For a second in the depths of his own head, he whispered Danny's name like his own private prayer.

Then he picked up the spoon and turned to face his mess.

"There's a good boy," Dr Mayhew breathed, his voice husky and hungry. "Rusty..."

( _He frowned. Dr Mayhew didn't use his name._ )

There was water on his face. Had he been crying? No. He hadn't cried in so long, and this was cold besides.

"Rusty!"

Blinking, it was like he was opening his eyes onto a completely different world. Saul's kitchen and Dr Mayhew was nowhere in sight, but Saul was standing in front of him – thankfully not too close – and looking at him anxiously.

There _was_ water on his face, he realised, reaching up and checking. But there was a glass of water in Saul's hand.

"Rusty?" Saul said again urgently. "Can you hear me?"

He nodded slowly, still shaking. That had been so _real._ It had been like he was living it all over again. He was shaking. Saul had seen that. Saul had seen him weak and helpless, but he hadn't...he was _shaking._

Trying to act normal, he scrubbed the water off his face with the back of his hand.

"I flicked some water on you when you didn't respond," Saul told him quietly. "I wanted to bring you out of it, without hurting or frightening you." There was an odd tone to his voice to his voice that Rusty didn't understand.

He bit his lip and tried to look apologetic and ashamed – not difficult – and waited.

With a sigh, Saul knelt down on the floor beside the chair and gazed up at him seriously. "You are not in trouble. You have not done anything wrong."

Oh. It certainly felt like he'd done something wrong.

"It was a memory, yes?" Saul asked quietly.

He stared, not sure how Saul could know that. Very slowly, he nodded.

"A bad memory?" Saul pressed. "Was it about Mayhew?"

He shook his head quickly, knowing he wasn't allowed to talk about it.

"Okay," Saul said gently. "But I'm here, Rusty, For whatever you need."

The understanding and...and _kindness_ in Saul's voice was more than he could bear. Unconsciously he shook his head, refusing to accept it.

Saul stood up slowly. "Are you going to eat your lunch?"

He shook his head again, this time absolutely certain. He would stay strong and that meant not eating.

"Alright then," Saul said with a sigh. "I'll put it in the fridge. Maybe you'll want it later."

No. But as Saul turned his back, putting the sandwich in the fridge, he reached out quickly and clumsily managed to grab a handful of grapes and bits of apple, stuffing them in his pocket.

He waited, on edge, as Saul turned back round and picked up the bowl of fruit. For a second, Saul seemed to stare at the fruit, and Rusty was afraid he might have noticed something, but then the moment passed and Saul put the fruit in the fridge without comment. Relief, mixed with exhaustion and the remains of the memory made him shake.

"Why don't we go back through to the lounge?" Saul suggested, eyeing him keenly. "You can lie down on the sofa for a bit."

He nodded and stood up obediently ready to follow Saul, but first Saul pulled a packet of oreos out the cupboard and emptied them all onto a plate. He stared at them for a long moment, surprised and blinking. Honestly, he wasn't sure he could eat all those if he tried, though his mouth was watering at the thought. Surely he'd be able to sneak a couple off the plate without Saul noticing.

"In case you feel hungry later," Saul explained, carrying the plate and the glass of chocolate milk through, and placing them on the coffee table in easy reach.

He felt sort of like Jerry the mouse, knowing that the food was just part of a trap but struggling to resist.

At Saul's nod, he carefully sat down on the cushion on the sofa, and a moment later, to his discomfort, Saul picked the blanket up and tucked it carefully around him. He tensed as Saul's hand rested on his shoulder for a fraction of a second.

"You looked cold," Saul mumured. "How are you feeling?"

"How was he _feeling?_ " The question was surreal. Unheard of. He shrugged.

Saul sighed. "Maybe you should get some rest," he suggested. "I could put the TV on for a while, if you like?" When Rusty didn't react, he went on hesitantly. "I'd been planning on talking to you about what the doctors said, but if you aren't feeling up to it..."

He nodded hastily. He needed to know that desperately.

Glancing at him, Saul nodded. "Of course. Okay. Please stop me if you find this too upsetting."

Again, the wrongness struck him. Saul shouldn't care whether he was upset or not. Still, he nodded and settled back.

"Okay," Saul said heavily. "I mentioned the stitches earlier." He paused for a long moment, as though struggling with what to say. "There was...a couple of tears inside your bottom," he said at last carefully. "The doctors had to stitch them back together. It will hurt a lot for some time, I'm afraid. And it will probably be uncomfortable to go to the bathroom. If there's a lot of pain, or you notice much bleeding, you need to let me know."

He blinked. He was used to the hurt and the blood. He expected them; after the first time Dr Mayhew had told him it was normal to bleed a bit, and he'd helped him clean up and praised him for not making a fuss.

But Saul said it like it was something horrible. Like Rusty being in pain was _wrong,_ and that had to be a trick...didn't it? But there was a look in Saul's eyes, that he had only ever seen on Danny before, and he didn't _want_ Saul looking at him that way.

"The doctor said they will take the stitches out in about ten days. I'm afraid it will be just as uncomfortable as when they put them in," Saul went on.

Right. It made sense that if they were going to take the stitches out that they'd get to use him, same as when they'd put them in. But that wasn't what was bothering him.

Tears, Saul had said, and he could imagine them. Like he was a damaged toy that needed patched up. He was broken inside, and that meant he was _useless._ Suppose he couldn't be fixed? What would happen? Would he just be thrown away? He didn't know...

"Most other things aren't too serious," Saul added quietly, and Rusty forced himself to listen. "Cuts and bruises and scrapes...they'll all heal with time and rest. Your hand though."

Automatically, Rusty hid it behind his back, ashamed.

"When it was broken, the bones weren't set like they should have been," Saul said. "That's why you can't use it properly. Now, they aren't sure – they'll have to call a specialist – but there's a _chance_ it can be fixed. They'll need to operate to move the bones into the right place, but there's definitely a chance."

Operate. A specialist. That sounded like it would cost a lot of money. He curled his fingers as much as he could, and knew he would never be worth it.

"I'm sorry," Saul said, his voice sounding very far away.

Rusty tilted his head, wondering why.

"You should never have had to deal with this. You should never have been hurt like this. But I swear it's over, Rusty. It's not going to be like that any more."

The words just bounced off him.


End file.
